


Light It: An Anthology

by Anonymous



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 45,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A collection of 49 River/Simon fics written between 2005 and 2007, archived from the old LiveJournal community Light It.





	1. INTRODUCTION

_Firefly_ ran from 2002 to 2003, and the Big Damn Movie was in 2005. A large amount of _Firefly_ fanfic was written in the mid 2000s, before fics was so consolidated to major fanfic sites, and a lot was posted on LiveJournal.

[Light It](https://light-it.livejournal.com) was a LiveJournal community dedicated to River and Simon's Crazy Space Incest. It contains many fics: some posts contain the fic directly, while some link to the fic on the author's own LiveJournal. Sadly, many of those have since been taken down.

In 2018, I decided to take all the fics that survived this long, format them all shiny-like, and save them in this anthology. The authors risked the Speical Hell to write them, and these fics deserve to be read and appreciated. These fics have survived for at least a decade, and it would be a real shame to risk them being deleted now.

I'll be honest: I have no authority to be doing this. It's not even an "I aim to misbehave" type scenario. I just love these fics. They were written over a decade ago, I kind of doubt anyone else cares about them anymore. If any of the original authors **do** have objections, then leave a comment on that fic's chapter and I'll be happy to take it down. I don't claim that making this anthology is terribly moral of me. I only claim that I feel that leaving these fics under-read and un-protected in the wilds of old LiveJournal doesn't feel very moral to me either.

It doesn't contain **every** fic from Light It. A few fics from Light It have been posted on AO3 by their authors, such as [_Unbuttoned_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/215922), [_Egypt_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/93906), [_Bitter Aftertaste_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/431995), [_Thirteen_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/522722), [_A Good Man_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/204256), [_Promises_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/204572), [_Color of Music_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/47948), and [_Not a Pretty Myth_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/47959). Those I see no need to repost here. Light It also had a handful of fics that weren't really River/Simon fics, and a handful more that were crossovers. I don't think those ones really belong in a River/Simon _Firefly_ anthology, so I'm leaving them out as well. But beyond that, this will contain all the Light It fics which are still accessible. I'm not filtering them beyond that. They run the gambit from smut to gen.


	2. Leaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Leaking_ by **ascadulineadept**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/70016.html)  
>  May 4th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG
> 
> Written for the May ficmonthly prompt (leaking).

When Simon walked, he left a trail of half-thoughts in his wake, the thoughts he couldn't keep straight in his brain. Sometimes they leaked out around the edges when he talked, because even Simon wasn't precise enough to keep his words in line with his mind. The thoughts spilled out around the corners of words and fell to the ground, lifeless little butterflies. River wanted to pick them up and store them somewhere, to give back to him, but mostly they got caught in objects or fell through the grates, and trickled away into dust.

She understood wanting thoughts, or at least, she liked them. Frustration thoughts were ones she surreptitiously poked through the grates with her toes, or ground to dust under her heel. They made her frantic—Simon's mind was smaller than hers, she didn't fit there. At least in her own frustration she had other minds to hide in, a bigger space to thrash. She could fling herself at the stars. But Simon's frustration, well… there was a reason he was so frustrated, cooped up in that tiny skull. Thoughts confined by bones.

On selfish nights, she didn't mention the thoughts. She let them lie, shiny, on the ground, and didn't pick them up. He was restless, but she didn't care. He would stroke her hair until she went to sleep, because the motion soothed him as much as it soothed her.

If she talked about the thoughts, about the problems with the joints, the spaces in the skull where the thoughts leaked out, he would find new medicines to give her. That was why she didn't tell. Even when she wanted to share, all the wanting and longing. She liked those thoughts, the weightlessness of that eternal pull. But she didn't tell. Sometimes, she worried that if she offered them back, he would take them away. If she kept them, she could eat them like candy before they melted away.

One night she picked them all up, all those abandoned thoughts, and made a blanket out of them. They were so warm, so soft. Almost like satin.

They fit themselves perfectly over her skin.


	3. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Awake_ by **ascadulineadept**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/69468.html)  
>  April 15th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG
> 
> Written for the ficmonthly April Theme (Nursery Rhymes)

_Awake, arise, pull out your eyes,_  
_And hear what time of day;_  
_And when you have done, pull out your tongue,_  
_And see what you can say._

The words tumble slowly out, sound falling irrythmically as syllables catch on the edges of her lips. River traces the wooden structure of the wall.

"Awake, arise, pull out your eyes…"

"River?" Simon's voice sounds in the darkness.

"Pull out your eyes…" She knows this room. She calculated it in steps and shuffles, shin-lengths and hair-lengths. Serenity hums. She doesn't need eyes. Time for the refrain.

"Pull out your eyes…"

"River?" He can't really hear her.

"And hear what time of day…" Does Serenity tell her that? Her bells are meaningless for this. They mean danger, and danger occurs in time. "What time of day…" Time flows are restrictive.

Simon's arms are restrictive, holding her up. "Mei-mei? What's wrong?"

"Time of day," River mumbles against his shoulder. "What time of day. Pull out your eyes, Simon." Somewhere in the bowels of this ship, something is keeping time. She wants to find it. She cannot have eyes to find it. It says so.

"River?" He picks her chin up. Eyes. He doesn't need eyes, neither does she.

"Internal clocks…" She rests her forehead back on his collarbone. Sleepy. She can smell the sleep on him, sleep and sweat. Body makes sweat, body keeps time. Time measured in heartbeats. She touches her tongue, briefly, to the hollow beneath the collarbone, and he startles. Response time? Time measured in reactions.

"River, are you awake?"

"Arisen," she confirms, but he is no longer listening. He is on the other side of the room, 18 footlengths, or 10 steps and 1 shuffle. She can hear liquid, and metal, and plastic.

Liquid, and metal, and plastic, time in duration, time in dosage. No more to say now.


	4. A Brother's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_A Brother's Love_ by **romanceguru**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/69278.html)  
>  March 27th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: “Light” For firefly100  
> Notes: 200 words, un-betaed. I’m being mushy.

Almost everything about River was light. Her skin, silky ivory on the good days, pasty and translucent on the bad. Even the freckles that dotted her shoulders and cheeks were mere pinpricks, practically invisible, but he knew they were there. He had treasured each one for as long as he could remember.

Her movements were grace personified, smooth and fluid. She always stepped toe-heal as if the testing cool waters before floating across.

Sometimes she would sneak upon him, boney fingers digging into his sides causing instruments to spill and clatter. Her smile would then fade to fear, the memory of reprisal in her scars.

Oh, but he could never be angry with her. One look into those sweet eyes melted his resolve, leaving behind only pure adoration.

In the dead of night, immersed in work, Simon could hear her giggle echo from deep within the ship, a buoyant phantom that never left the day. A smile teased his lips as the melody rang in his ears blissful and carefree.

When he thought of her, she glowed, a flickering radiance he kept alive in the palm of his hand.

It was _his_ love that kept her alight, from fading away.


	5. Not Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Not Mine_ by **diamondinsanity**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/68924.html)  
>  March 18th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R  
> Summary: That fragile broken girl isn't Simon's sister, and that makes everything okay.

"She's not my sister." It's that thought that allows Simon to sleep at night. Without that thought, he knew that he wouldn't be able to. But it was true in Simon's mind.

That fragile little broken girl wasn't his sister. She wasn't the girl he'd grown up with. She wasn't that bright and energetic little brat that teased him constantly about all the girls he had crushes on. This wasn't the little girl who made up languages and would go weeks on end without speaking any English or Chinese.

No. This was a different girl.

Simon didn't know this strange little child that spoke to the shadows in her head, and moved as though she were in a trance. He didn't know the girl who spoke in senseless rhymes, or who fought constantly with the demons in her mind. Whoever this crazed girl was, she wasn't his sister.

So, it made everything easier. The hot kisses in darkened hallways and the unnecessary physical examinations. The knock on his door every night that was the signal for River slipping into his bed, already naked and wet. The moans that echoed off his lips every night as hers tightened around his hardened member.

It was the lie that had become his life. She wasn't his sister. Wasn't his, and that was the only thing that kept him from throwing up at the mere thought of the things they did every night. He wasn't sick for being in love with his sister because that fragile broken little girl wasn't his sister.


	6. Properly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Properly_ by **ascadulineadept**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/68737.html)  
>  March 13th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: River wants to know things Simon would rather not have to explain.

"What is, 'properly'?" River asked. "The word has no application here. 'Properly' is completed. You wish to define further."

"I—no. I mean, yes. River." Simon flexed his fingers. "It isn't just _that_."

"Isn't just _what_?"

"It isn't just the act of it," Simon said. He gestured, somewhat helplessly. "River, there should be… _more_ … to it."

"What more?" River picked up the pills. "This more?"

"No! River." He moved to snatch them out of her hand, and she jerked them back, laughing.

"Mine."

"No, River."

" _Mine_ ," she insisted, and retreated to the corner of his bed. "Tell me more."

"No," he said. He held out his hand. "They're not yours, mei-mei. Give them back."

"Mine until you tell," she said, and smiled that infuriatingly-sunny smile at him.

Simon put his head in his hands.

"I… no. No. This isn't…"

"Why not, Simon? I already know what it is."

"You only know…" he searched for words. "You only know what it is, not what it means."

"What does it 'mean,' then?" River asked, parroting him. "Tell, Simon."

"It means you're… making a commitment to someone. That you love them."

River pondered this. "I love you."

Simon made a choking sound. "No. I mean, yes, mei-mei. But not like that."

"Why not?"

"Because—"

"And you love me," River interrupted. "You do, you said so. Yesterday."

"Yes, but it's not—"

"Acceptable?" River imitated his voice. "Proper?"

"Yes. I mean, no, it's not."

" _Why_?" River sounded frustrated.

"Because brothers and sisters care for each other in a different way."

"Because there are different people for different things."

Simon squeezed her hand. "Yes, mei-mei. Exactly."

"Only there aren't. Not here."

"The— …there are," he said.

" _You_ don't have anyone for that," she said logically. "And neither do I."

"That's not the _point_."

"Why isn't it the point? You need someone for that, and so do I."

"You never _need_ someone for that," Simon said hurriedly. "The captain doesn't have someone for that. Neither does Jayne. Or… Kaylee."

"Inara has all of them. But they don't love you. I love you."

"You don't love me like that, River."

"I do," River insisted. "I love you like anything. Love is about caring. You take care of me. I'll take care of you."

"No!" His voice was louder than he'd intended, and she curled away, her eyes wide and hurt. And now filling with tears.

"You don't want me."

He could have laughed. "No, River, that's not it." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

But she smiled. "I know."

"No. No, mei-mei—"

"I just wanted to see if you knew." She leaned close. "Later, you will tell me what 'properly' is."


	7. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Untitled ficlet by ](https://light-it.livejournal.com/66436.html)**ascadulineadept**  
>  January 7th, 2007
> 
> [Untitled drabble, pt. 2, by **ascadulineadept**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/66571.html)  
>  January 16th, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Somewhere between PG and PG-13; closer to the former

### Part 1

He hadn't seen her grow. He'd watched her shoot up like a beansprout for fourteen years, all elbows and knees and skinny limbs that somehow coalesced into a surprising amount of grace. He'd been able to see when the face lengthened and the cheekbones began to spread. And then… nothing. Nothing, for two years, while she was fourteen and skinny and freckled, flash-frozen in time, still wearing the neat little dress she'd worn onto the ship.

Until she tumbled, naked, onto a dirty floor. Her hair was curlier now, was his first, idiotic thought. Her skin was cold, and slick, and her arms made wet splotches on his shirt. She was shivering—not surprising; his hands spread, protective, catching the edges of shoulderblades on his palms. He could feel her spine, the way her ribs poked through the skin and arced away.

She was so fragile. So fragile. Already shaking. Her spine would snap, he worried, if he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed—no matter the muscles he could feel tightening under his fingers. He could feel it in his chest, the urge to crush her back into the side of the box and hold her close. She was safe, she was _safe_ now. She'd know if he held her tight.

Everything. He wanted to know everything, and she couldn't tell him. So he breathed in the smell of her hair, stroked along the inside of her arm while he swabbed the skin with alcohol. When she closed her eyes, shut out the turmoil and deep and confusion, and tipped over and slept, he could almost think she was a child again.

Confused, and quick to startle, and childish. And so much more elegant, shivering in his arms, than she'd ever been when she waltzed with him at that last winter ball.

It didn't occur to him that she knew how very afraid he was.

  


### Part 2

He hated Book; she'd woken up with pain lancing about in her skull. She didn't know who he was, though. Just that he was a he. And he was here.

The woman on the table, the one with the hole in her stomach. She didn't know.

Simon would know. She remembered that Simon was here. But not here in this room.

She needed Simon. "Simon?"

He was there. Not Simon. She'd called Simon, but it wasn't Simon that was here. That was the first fact.

Her mind wasn't working.

There was so much all of a sudden, overlapping into one screaming mass. He was from the academy; they had sent him to her. She had to kill him. …no. No, he wasn't. But what to do? Nobody had told her what to do. They were supposed to tell her.

He was going to kill her if she didn't do something. But she couldn't do anything. She didn't have any idea what it was she _should_ do. Simon would have know. But Simon wasn't here. Simon hadn't come for her.

No one would come for her, was that it? That woman had a hole in her stomach. She was pain and weak and she couldn't help. And Simon wasn't helping. Simon had told her she was safe. He had lied to her.

It was too much all at once. No one had told her what this place would be like. There was no target, and nothing to focus on. …had they sent Simon to her for her to kill? She _wouldn't_ kill Simon.

But Simon was dying anyway, or he would be. Stupid, hesitating… no. No, Simon was right, Simon should be right. Simon was weak. She didn't want to think that. Simon was weak, and he was losing. But he had come for her. Did that matter more than bullets?

And there was another gun to her head. Alive, they need me _alive_ , he knows they need me _alive_ , because they want me _back_. That made sense. He was here to take her back. …oh, God. He was going to take her away.

And then life exploded out the back of his head, just like that. And Simon had a gun, why did Simon have a gun…?

And the ship took off.

* * *

He held her hand while she went to sleep. She couldn't push things away, but she could concentrate on some. And Simon's pulse was a good thing. It was a strong pulse. A bit shallow. His blood pressure was high. She didn't know why, but she knew that made sense.

She wondered if he knew how they'd gotten her out. Those men with their needles and the gas they held under her nose. She'd heard them coming, all jangling nerves all down to her little room. But they hadn't wanted to hurt her. They had been nice men. And they were going to die, very soon, when the other men found them. So she had lain very still and let them hold the cloth over her nose and put the needle into her arm and carry her out.

She wanted to go back into the box. It was calm, there. She hadn't thought at all.

But it was almost as nice here, with Simon holding her hand. She slept.

* * *

Simon was wary, but happier. He thought they were safer now.

River turned over in her sleep.


	8. A Perfect Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_A Perfect Universe_ by **romanceguru**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/64599.html)  
>  October 26th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 mild sexual references.  
> Summary: Simon watches, realizes and regrets. One-shot?  
> Word Count: 277  
> Notes: My first (implied) CSI fic. I'm treading in new water. I really tried, but I can't seem to leave Jayne out of my fics.

Beneath the cover of stairwell shadows, he witnessed their first kiss. Everyone had assumed he hadn't seen it coming. The uncouth ape-man, ten classes lower then his beautiful _mei-mei_.

Surprisingly, he wasn't repulsed by the large man's hands cupping and groping her young, untainted body. The instinctual need to race forth and pry them apart, deck the oversize Neanderthal for taking advantage of his broken sister, lay dormant. Their mouths colliding hotly with yearning seemed oddly natural.

It wasn't until he heard the soft little mewls of pleasure hum from her lips, did his heart and body react to the display before him. He felt his stomach bottom out, the muscles keeping his form upright, faltered. The feeling was something akin to utter despair.

He had provided his sister with everything he possibly could, but he could not give her this. Physical pleasure, passion, intimacy beyond sibling love.

His body ached and burned with something else, longing. He wanted to be the one to make her moan, cause her to buckle from his every touch. Sometimes he loved her so much he thought his heart would explode, but there were always boundaries. Red sirens blaring every time his thoughts wandered further, teetering on the rickety edge of lust.

She was a goddess to him in every way. A phantom angel, the motivation for waking each day. Sometimes his dreams granted them the breathless, trembling kisses, contact his conscious mind could not allow. He'd awake, his skin aflame, gasping for breath.

In the fog between slumber and rouse, he thought perhaps his fantasies were possible, and he would smile, because in that singular moment, it was a perfect universe.


	9. Lead Me, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Lead Me, Please_ by **Nari (thunder_nari)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/64142.html)  
>  September 17th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Simon/River, with a touch of one-sided Mal/Simon  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Summary: She steals through Kaylee's room. Plastic and batteries, close enough to what Simon's fingers are failing to give him again.  
> Notes/Warnings: This was written as a backup for the kinkathon. There is anal/rimming and toys. If you're squicked by any of these things, don't read. Also, it's PWP. Pure smutty fun. :)

It's always the same thing lately. Whether it's late in the night or the middle of the day. He's hurting. Body straining, aching, hot all over.

It never happened at first. His focus was there, right in front of him. Eclipsing every possible detail. Even the baser needs. Forgot to eat, to sleep, to live.

Every day she gets better. Every day she needs him a little less. Every day he can turn his thoughts to other things.

Eat and breathe and dance and live and just… be happy.

Except that he's not.

He aches and needs and _yearns_.

Nothing clinical to fix here. Baser, instinct. Touch. Humans are a pack animal. They need it. Contact.

His own hand isn't enough. His frustration runs high through the ship. Kaylee satisfied him for a short while. She's not what he needs though and she couldn't figure it out. Simon's a complicated creature. Jayne is easier for her.

Simon stares at Mal so hard sometimes that River is afraid his gaze will literally scorch a hole through the captain. Mal is truly obtuse though. He gets that hot under the collar feeling and leaves the room every time. Leaves Simon with that full body ache.

That Simon can't rid himself of. Doesn't matter how hard he grips himself, fist stripping and harsh. Doesn't matter how deep his fingers push, they can never fill him. Just leave him a panting, trembling mess that wishes he had taken one of Nandi's boys to bed all that time ago. To get the edge off. To give him the strength to go without for another few years. But he still had his focus then.

He's given his everything to her. It's not exactly a question on if she's going to give everything back. Besides, he's keeping her up at night.

She steals through Kaylee's room. Plastic and batteries, close enough to what Simon's fingers are failing to give him again.

Simon's splayed over his bed. Naked, glistening sweat, River gets the obscure urge to lick the trickle over his chest away. The door slides shut with a clang in her rush to close it and get to the bed. Can't let Simon think. It's thinking that got him this problem in the first place.

"River!" He's yelping. Looking like she just doused him in frigid water and his fingers are gone, he's halfway to sitting. Her hand presses him back, hard to the bed with the strength that Zoe's taught her to use. Simon goes down with a whoosh of air. Can't let him think. Her fingers drop between his legs, dainty and long. He's slick and open to her. "River…" His legs drop open and there… Now he's not thinking.

"Shhh. You can't do everything yourself."

"River, what are you—" He cuts off to a groan, her fingers twisting inside of him. Being part of him. Doing what no one else can for him. Leading him straight to the temptation he wants. _Lead me, please, I can't do it myself._ She knows her brother too well.

"I hear you. Your eyes beg please but he won't ever listen."

"River…" His voice says stop. But voices are lies. And reactions can't hide truth. Her fingers thrust and his hips arch into it. He could push her away but his fingers are too busy winding into the bed sheets.

"You aren't thinking of him. Only me." That knowledge gives a pulse between her legs. Like she gets whenever she can feel him in here.

"River, it's not—"

"Enough," she finishes for him. He doesn't even try to argue. She twists and rubs her fingers in him before he can and all he does is nod helplessly. His breathless whimper asks her 'please'. "You need to trust me to take care of you. To know what's best for you." Like he does her. "Pull your legs up."

He does, without even thinking about it, he does. Draws his legs up, bent at the knees and lets her settle his feet at her shoulders. He blushing hot, so embarrassed and so needy. Exposing himself to her. The way she's done for him dozens of times and is this really any different? His embarrassment has him looking away from her though and she frowns.

"Do you trust me?"

He gasps when the new position lets her fingers hit him deeper. "I do! I do, I do, I just—" He stops dead when she lifts the toy she stole from Kaylee's room. His breath and his voice and his hips. "Oh god…"

She smiles at him. Her fingers still don't stop in him, loathe to give up this intimate touch. A moan is breaking from Simon a minute later when his mind cracks under all the sensation. "Please, River."

"Shhh," she shushes him. "I've got you. My gorgeous brother, I've got you now."

"Yes." His voice is trembling.

She lets her fingers slip from him and misses the contact already. Hopes he'll let this happen again or she'll never be able to touch him so deeply and so closely. But this time it's about what he needs. She brings the vibrator to rest against his entrance, so slick and so relaxed, that it only takes a touch of pressure to have the tip sliding in and she watches in fascination as he stretches to accommodate the plastic, warmed from the grip of her hand.

It's the largest one Kaylee has and she pushes it in insistently, never letting up the steady pressure and Simon moans his way through it. He whispers out her name and there's no one else intruding on his thoughts now. It's all River. And she's all him.

"Oh, River," he's gasping out her name again, his hips jerking down and his feet pressing against her shoulders.

She smiles at him, a hint of teasing. She draws a finger feather-light along his heavy balls, pleased with the way he jerks and his breath hitches. "What is it, gē-ge?"

"Don't stop."

"Never," her voice hisses out, still with that smile. Like she hasn't got her brother wrung out with a vibrator shoved deep in him and her finger now trailing around stretched pink skin. "Do you know what you look like?" The thoughts that instantly flood his mind make her wince. Her stupid brother. He gets the sharp sting of her hand to his thigh and he yelps. He stares at her with wide eyes, panting but not moving now and definitely not thinking. "No. You look gorgeous. Edible," she teases. How had little Kaylee put it before? Taking a bite out of him. She swoops down and draws her tongue up the inside of his thigh, collecting salt and sweat. All types of Simon. Good pure taste.

His cock tastes even better. She kisses and licks, he moans and shudders. She swears she can feel him clenching down over the vibrator, reminding her to move it, rock it inside of him and he writhes. She's pressing his knees down to his shoulders, folding him in half, not giving him the choice but to take everything as she thrusts the vibrator in him and licks her tongue along his cock.

He doesn't think when she's doing this. Nothing beyond 'yes, please, god, oh god, River.' Her brother should never doubt her.

She runs her tongue to the base of his cock, leaves a thin wet trail with the tip of her tongue over his balls that has Simon shivering. Shivering, _shaking_ , so hard and wanting. She's never felt him want like this, not even when he's staring doe-eyed at Mal. She'll make sure that Simon never wants like this for anyone else again.

His feet slide down over her back, knees catching at her shoulders, as she runs her tongue lower. Over sensitive skin, stretched tight skin. The taste of plastic and just Simon. Clean and salty and the tang of soap that says he bathed before getting in the bed. He'll have to do that again, she thinks. They can't have a rumpled looking Simon. She giggles with her tongue still pressed to him and the vibration makes him shudder again.

A brief lift of her head shows him sightlessly staring up at the ceiling but he looks down at her when she's stopped, lips parted and she can tell he's been biting down on them. She smiles at him warmly and he gives a trembling smile back. His hand finds it's way into her hair, fingers tangled in long strands. He presses her gently back down to her task and she hums her pleasure out loud.

She taps the base of the vibrator with her fingers and Simon groans. She finally sets the thing on, a low thrum of energy traveling from it to Simon. It seems to vibrate his entire body and he's crying out. Out loud so the whole ship must know what they're doing. Serenity doesn't keep secrets well with her thin walls. River doesn't mind. Simon will learn not to.

Her tongue is back to task. Licking around the tight skin of his entrance, up against the sides of the vibrator as she rocks it up and down in him, feels it shaking in her hand and Simon shaking under her tongue. Every muscle in him is going tight, trying to hold back just because now he's got it, he doesn't want it to go away.

She grips the base of the vibrator tighter, pulls it out and thrusts back in so his hips buck down and he bites off his cry this time. Her lips find his cock, drooling out its pleasure and she closes over the head. Simon bucks again without thinking but she only moves back with it. She wants to feel him on her tongue. As he comes and washes everything out of her but him.

He lies sated and spent and… just relaxed. She's sure it's the first time. And she did it. She got this from him. It gives her a giddy thrill. She's not just some child when she can take care of someone else.

His chest is heaving and she slithers up his side to press her hand to it, try to calm it like the rest of him is. The vibrator still works in him and she can hear his body humming along with it. He stares at her, still so wide-eyed and surprised, when she brings herself into his line of vision.

"Oh god, River, I can't believe…"

She kisses him. He doesn't even stop her, lets her in and even holds her there. Perfect. The perfect way for the night to end on a perfect couple. When she pulls back from him, he looks uncertain. Nervous.

"River… Do you want…"

She smiles when he can't say the words. Even after what they've done. Or what she's done. She places her finger against his lips to shush him and presses a kiss to his forehead to comfort. "This time was for you. To help you sleep."

"Mei-mei…" His arms come up to hold her but she slips away off the bed. She pauses for just long enough to slide the vibrator from him to the sound of his gasp.

"You sleep."

"You're not staying…?"

She giggles and grins at him. "Silly. We can't share the same bed until after we're married."

She leaves him with an overwhelmed expression that gives way to a loudly amused sigh.


	10. Family Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Family Feeling_ by **nevoreiel**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/62848.html)  
>  September 3rd, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R  
> Blurb: The very idea of filthy doings embarrassed Simon…

The very idea of filthy doings embarrassed Simon, offended his family feeling. But when it came to River, his constitution was always weak and it made no exception for filthy, unmentionable things. The thoughts came unbidden in unguarded, but often inopportune, moments, and Simon found himself distracted with a slack-jawed fascination.

He knew that she knew and was terrified that at any moment she would rat him out, blurt out something so unbecoming that the whole crew would know it to be true. Though the terror of being found out could never outweigh his confounding need. But she never said a word. Nothing that could be properly interpreted, anyway.

At first Simon had tried justifying that unnamable "it" with brotherly affection, tender care for a fragile sister: the only true flesh and blood he had left in the 'verse. Just as she knew his innermost thoughts, he knew he irrevocably loved her, would certainly do anything for her.

The love grew without much tending and in those moments of distraction he caught himself staring at the soft bend of her elbow and imagining his lips upon it, studying the moist backs of her small knees as if they were cupped in his hands—large and ungainly compared to her dainty grace. Oh, he knew she was not what she appeared—she was a deadly a weapon hiding beneath the face of a little girl lost.

With certainty and the conviction of a rigid society, he knew he should be deeply ashamed, but he could not quite bring himself to wallow in it. Enough agony and nights of frowning disapproval had been spent in useless self-flagellation. Instead, he wore the shame like gilt; he lived in the eyes of his sister.

He loved her openly and he loved her secretly. After tucking her into bed, sure of a few hours to himself, he would shut himself in his room.

In his bed, Simon let himself dream freely, making love to River in his thoughts because he could not have her otherwise. And he shuddered with the wrongness—"wrong" meaning "that's not right"—and stoically would not touch himself. Nevertheless, it made not one jot of difference: it was an act of love, and of forbidden love, he knew he was committing some evil. His erection hardened.

Faintly, as if through the wall separating them, Simon could almost hear the whisper of River's voice say: "You dirty bastard, listen, I'm only seventeen." It made him stumble in his dream, choke a little on the fantasy. For one fleeting moment he thought that he'd been found out. But it was just an echo of his own twinging consciousness. Strange that it had made no mention family ties. Further chastised, he abandoned his dream for reality and went to check on River. Just in case.

In fact, River was sleeping soundly, a small smile softening her face. She dreamed the same dream Simon dreamed and she smiled at his childish tentativeness. After all, River was not the only one who got confused sometimes.


	11. Worthy of Two Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Worthy of Two Lovers_ by **nevoreiel**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/62848.html)  
>  September 3rd, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Simon/Kaylee, Kaylee/River, River/Simon  
> Rating: R  
> Blurb: Kaylee never even dreamed of supposing…

Kaylee never even dreamed of supposing that Simon would be the take-charge kinda guy in the relationship (or in bed), but oh boy, was she wrong! Forgetting to feel a little shamed for giving him so little credit and forgetting to feel pleasantly surprised at the turnabout, she just felt as his head descended between her thighs.

After months of courting gone wrong and several involved, but very unfulfilling, kisses, Simon had broken down, manners momentarily forgotten, and had given as good as he got. Once Kaylee worked up the courage to jump him while he was unawares and defenseless.

The first hurdle cleared, Simon became much more easily accessible. Though, some high brow and fancy sense of chivalry still remained, hence it was he who was kneeling between her legs and not the other way around, but Kaylee had no complaints. And she wouldn't, with a tongue like that. It wasn't there just for fancy talk after all!

* * *

River was a volatile little thing, but Kaylee always found the right touch, the right word to soothe her. It was usually in the moments Simon wasn't around and though those were few and far between, she was happy to be of use and proud that she had conquered her fear: both of River's uncanny ability to kill people and Simon inadvertently finding out her being unfaithful; and with his sister, to add insult to injury!

Except "being unfaithful" might not be the best way to describe what she was doing. Every gesture was commonplace and every word simple, yet somehow each gesture and each word felt leaden with some secret meaning that the girls would conspiratorially giggle over as Kaylee tried to brush out River's tangled hair with one of Inara's kindly lent brushes.

And so the simple, unremarkable gestures—the brush of elbow as River breezed past, the wayward poke of a finger into the soft flesh of a belly, as they tumbled in a tickle fight—became something exotic and took on a life of their own. Best of all, they loved to link arms and prance around, bursting with laughter. River always did love to dance and laughter was the best medicine.

* * *

Learned from the nights when nightmares were numerous, River still escaped to Simon's bed whenever the chance arose and she was sure to find him there and unaccompanied. He must've guessed that it wasn't the bad dreams that made her crawl up next to him in the dark, but he was too kind-hearted and, therefore, too lenient when it came to River to push her away.

On nights when she could feel Simon's exhaustion, River would simply drape her arm across his chest, a warm presence next to him, but nothing overbearing or stifling. When she felt particularly reckless, River would mold herself to his back, tight as she could, cheek pressed to his shoulder, one leg finding its way over his hip sometime in the night. Best of all, she loved tangling their legs together as they lay face to face. That way she could watch over Simon and smooth his brow when worry creased it.

Usually, he never woke and by morning, River had melted away like the remnants of a pleasant dream. Today, she had leaned in to brush a kiss across Simon's cheek, pulling him up from deep sleep into a hazy daze, and whispered into his ear. Once sufficiently awake, all he could recall with some certainty was a snatch of a sentence: she had told him he was worthy of two lovers, same as she. Simon put it to his foggy mind, the fact that the statement did not unduly disturb him and that its logic seemed sound enough. Besides, River was genius personified, so who was he to argue.


	12. Two Months and One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Two Months and One Day_ by **jezdenly**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/62332.html)  
>  August 18th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R  
> Word count: 1,065  
> Summary: He didn't even know it was wrong.

Simon was two months away from sixteen when he started it and a day past sixteen when his parents ended it. He didn't even know it was wrong until his mother caught them. River's panties loose around her tiny ankles, skirt pushed up high, his fingers lost between her pale thighs. Her chest heaving and his head dizzy with heat and yearning. He didn't realize how immoral it all was until River's frightened screams were echoes in his ears and his own blood was flowing down his chin. His mother's palm smacked him until he thought she'd never quit.

Mrs. Tam didn't breathe a word, but her tears said everything. Spoke volumes in which her voice had never risen. She left with her fingers stained burgundy and clamped brutally on River's upper arm, tugging her along with vicious pulls out the door and as far away from Simon as possible. Years later, he would look back upon this moment and realize what a pathetic last moment with _his_ River it was. The River who laughed in his bed with her crooked smile that was made for him to kiss. But now, he just watched them go with blue eyes wide and hands twitching at his sides. He felt the blood trickle to fall helplessly on his immaculate shirt, but Simon didn't move.

Dr. Gabriel Tam, his father, walked in almost silently. Jaw set and holding a towel. All Simon saw were Dr. Tam's eyes—unblinking and wild. He couldn't help but cower; if his placid mother had hit him, he couldn't dream of what his father was about to do. Simon shut his eyes, but didn't move. Running wasn't in his blood. He expected everything but nothing of what happened. The gentle slide of cloth running over his chin and mouth, wiping away the remains of crimson and dabbing at the splits in his lip. His father's cool fingers running gently over and around the plains of his face, followed by lips kissing his nose. Gabriel pressed his mouth tightly to his son's forehead and uttered words of apology, of forgiveness. He cupped Simon's face like broken glass.

"I—I… I don't understand." Simon whispered, ashamed. He had never been so confused in his life.

"I know you don't. And I'm sorry. I should have known, I should have stopped this before it even began. I just thought… Oh, Simon." And he felt wetness between their faces and didn't know whose tears were the cause.

"I don't know what's going on. I don't even know what you're talking about. Please just tell me." Simon pushed his father away; wanting distance, wanting age and information.

"What, what your mother caught you and your sister doing… it's, it's wrong Simon."

"How is it wrong? I had asked you, just a couple months ago about all of this. I told you I was in love and I asked you how to do things. She liked it, father, I can tell!" Gabriel face went slack, eyes distant. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, his tongue heavy and useless in his mouth.

"Last month, you were… you were talking about your sister? You were talking about _River_?" Simon nodded vigorously in front of him.

"Of course, she's the only girl I love. And! And she loves me back! You told me, I remember, you told me if we were in love and if we were sure then I could do that. We could do anything we wanted. Father, we wanted this. It's not wrong." And Dr. Tam's eyes are sharp again, and he's seeing things in focus. His son, in front of him, lips red with blood on a face too young and naïve for any of this. With fear etched on his skin, he looked his adolescent age. When he had spoken to Simon weeks prior, he had looked a man. Ready and eager to learn of love and woman, and Gabriel had been there to inform him. Now, with his head clear he looked at Simon with his heart locked up. Put away until he could deal with this, all this blatant pain and disgust.

"When I spoke to you, I had no idea you were speaking of River. Simon, she is your sister, and for you to be with her in the way you were is not right. It's sinful and corrupt. The Alliance could lock you up for this, do you know that? And if people find out what you've done, our family will be a joke. I would be fired, and you would never be able to become a doctor. To become what your mother, you and I have always dreamed of. Your dreams would be lost. We would be done, Simon. Our family would be done."

"I—I can't touch her?" Elder Tam acknowledged the agony filled words with a curt shake of his head.

"I can't kiss her?" And it was pathetic the way Simon's lips unknowingly quivered over the words, but it pulled at his father's heart until he could barely breathe.

"No." Gabriel could see the way Simon shook, like that brief utterance had blown him away and left the shell, light and ready to take flight with the breeze.

"Please, father. I'll do anything." Sobs shook Simon's trim body, and he tried to hold himself together. To appear older and wiser and everything his father wanted him to be. But he just _couldn't._

"River will go to The Academy we've received mail about. It'll make this so much easier for you both, don't you see? She will be gone and you won't have to think about it. At Medicad this winter, you will grow and learn. Your ache will fade. This pain will be over and you'll be happy again, I promise you this. Just let her be, let this pass."

Simon wiped at his tears angrily, spitting the blood that had gathered in his mouth onto the wooden floor beside his father shoes. Cursing at the fail for a direct hit.

"We'll run away. You can't do this to us. YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" he screamed, swinging his fists toward his father who avoided it easily. Wrapping his larger frame around Simon, he held him close until the anger passed and left the void. A void to be filled in each of them with time and understanding.


	13. Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Fairy Tales_ by **Margie (margarks)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/58116.html)  
>  June 26th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (for the naughty sex parts)  
> Summary: River wants to be a princess.

It starts with a kiss. Soft lips and warm breath tickling his skin.

Simon wakes abruptly though the touch is gentle. The wet tip of a tongue lines his lower lip and he gasps, eyes blinking wildly.

"Beauty wakes the sleeping prince." River smiles down at him, smoothing his hair where sleep has flattened and mashed it.

He is hard beneath the covers. Beneath her soft belly.

"River—"

"Shhh." She presses one long, lithe finger against his mouth. "You've been asleep a long time."

* * *

He tries to tell her its wrong, but she doesn't understand. And Simon's not even sure she knows the meaning of the erection that pokes at her each time he wakes to find her atop him.

But _he_ knows.

And every time he sees Book he blushes. They haven't done much, just a few kisses here and there. Once, before he was fully awake, Simon had thrust up against her, rubbing himself against her giving flesh through the covers. But he'd stopped the moment he'd realized.

Yet, he still feels as if he should confess. His eyes slide away from Book laughing at something Kaylee said, and back to River who smiles shyly back at him.

* * *

"I'm locked in a tower."

"What?" Simon blinks up at her through his haze of arousal. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that he cared about propriety. To pretend that he wanted her to stop.

"I'm locked in a tower and they cut off all my hair," River says, her lower lip trembling, her eyes wet.

Instantly Simon forgets his desire and becomes the sympathetic, protective brother. He turns so that she is beneath him, still cradled in his arms and soothes. "Shhh, mei-mei, shhh. It's over. You're not in the tower anymore. I came and got you, remember? You're safe now."

"The prince came to save the princess?" she whispers, burying her face in Simon's neck. "You're my prince, Simon." Her lips brush lightly over his skin and Simon moans, his arousal returning in a single heavy rush.

* * *

The days blend together. Mornings filled with hot, wet kisses. Forbidden kisses. The days filled with longing and guilt and furtive glances. Simon doesn't know how much more he can take. He thinks he'll go crazy. Crazy with want, with guilt, with fear of discovery.

And sometimes, when he's alone he laughs. Laughs at the idea that he's becoming just a little insane, like River. Like brother, like sister.

She was his _sister_.

* * *

"Am I beautiful, Simon?"

"Of course you are, mei-mei." His thumb glides over the smooth skin of her shoulder, where her shift has fallen away.

"Like a princess?" Her brows rise in question.

"Just like Cinderella, love," he answers breathlessly, his cock throbbing against her mound as she sits up to stare more intently down at him.

Then she smiles and bends down for another long, hot kiss. "Thank you for finding my slipper, Simon."

He doesn't even realize his hands have grasped her hips and moved them both into an unconscious rhythm. "You're welcome, River." His words are swallowed inside River's open mouth.

* * *

_She's naked._ Simon's first waking thought is that River's skin is cool and smooth beneath his fingers. His palms brush her hard nipples before he even realizes that she's real. That she's real and naked and breathing heavily in his arms.

"River!" he says in a surprised gasp.

"I don't want to sleep anymore, Simon," she whispers, kissing his jaw, moving against him. "I'm tired of lying down."

"I…" Simon doesn't know what to say, what to do. Things have never gone this far before. But, god, he wants her. He's wanted her since the first morning he'd woken with her lips on his.

"Kiss me," River moans, and Simon's body twitches and rises to meet hers. "Break through the glass, Simon. I don't want to live in a box anymore." His pajamas grow stained, his fluid, hers. He can't tell anymore.

"River, we can't—"

"River's not here," she says, grabbing at his pants and pulling. She pauses and cocks her head at him. "Is my skin smooth as snow? White and cool for you, Simon?" she asks looking young and unsure. "Is it… am I beautiful, Simon?"

"Yes, mei-mei. So beautiful," he says, because what else can he do?

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, River." He's naked now too, unsure of how he got that way. Unable to focus on anything except her. "I love you, mei-mei."

"I love you, too," she says cheerfully, her hand on his ji ba. "My Simon. My prince."

"Oh, god." He thrusts against her hand. "We can't—"

"Kiss me and make me better," she moans, sliding her hand up and down his shaft, rubbing her wetness against his thigh. "Save me, Simon, _please_."

And then he's inside of her, and they're both crying out.

* * *

He doesn't even pretend anymore. Doesn't pretend to sleep, doesn't pretend to push her away. Every night he waits for early morning, touching himself now and then to ease the ache until she appears.

He knows enough now that he makes sure to start touching her the moment she slips beneath his covers. His fingers reach unerringly for her groin, slipping between her already wet lips. He teases her, touching her clitoris, the rough pads of his fingers stimulating her until she's gasping.

He doesn't bother wearing pajamas anymore.

"Simon!" she cries out and his cock pulses between her fingers.

Something wicked takes hold of him, and he says, "Simon's not here." Even as he plunges two fingers into her giving channel and stretches her. "Only Prince Charming." He kisses her jaw, her cheek, her nose. Then carefully, slowly, savoringly he kisses her lips.

"My prince," she murmurs, moving restlessly against him.

"Only yours," Simon answers, shifting himself between her thighs, the tip of his ji ba wet and ready.

"Don't let me sleep again," she says, spreading her legs open for him.

"Never," and then he pushes in, the head slipping past her entrance. He groans as her muscles squeeze him, sucking him in.

"Yes, please," she moans.

Simon accommodates her by pulling out and pushing in again, slow at first, not wanting to end it too soon. But it doesn't take long for him to lose control. Her soft cries, the harsh sting of her nails against his shoulders.

He's pumping now, fast and hard. The small bed, more cot-like than anything else, creaks and shudders beneath them. Her legs wrap around his waist, her feet locking at the small of his back. "Oh, god!" he groans, harsh and heavy as his body tightens for release. Then like a rush of water over a broken dam he bursts. Seconds later he feels River stiffen beneath him, her body squeezing his already sensitive cock until they're both gasping and he finally has to pull himself free of her.

He dips his head and kisses her softly, reverently. "My beauty."

She smiles, that shy, sweet smile back at him. "My prince."

They fall asleep curled together, sated and just a little lost in childish dreams.


	14. A Broken Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_A Broken Arm_ by **lethal_paine**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/57424.html)  
>  June 11th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG, for the sound of a bone breaking  
> Summary: Pre-Academy. River's getting ready for her debut solo dance recital, and a teenage Simon breaks his arm the night of the preformace. Third person; incomplete.  
> Word Count: 1510

It was to be the social event of the season. A recital and a reception, the biggest one the girl was having to date, had been sold out in a matter of weeks. River had been looking forward to it for at least half a year before that. And despite the planning and practicing, it had all come down to the girl gathering her costume together and waiting to leave. But something was missing. She had her shoes, outfit, tights, makeup, but w—

"What are you doing with your hair?" Simon asked, standing next to the girl as she looked everything on her bed over. He stood well above her now, at the age of sixteen, but showed no signs of getting any taller than the 5'10" he was at. For the first time, Simon was beginning to appear as more of a young man than a boy, traces of prepubescent chubbiness having finally disappeared. This same weight never seemed to reach the girl despite her age of twelve, instead her limbs beginning to grow long and elegant, if not a bit lanky. River shot him a look of worry.

"I didn't think of that." Panic struck, and the girl rushed off to find something for her hair. Simon followed casually. Their parents were attending yet another social function in preparation for River's recital, leaving them to get her things together and wait for their chauffeur to come pick them up and take them to the theater house.

As the girl began to tear apart the vanity of her private bathroom, her brother strolled up behind her. "I know what you could do with it." The young man announced, causing girl to dart up and give in a questioning, if not irritated, look.

"The Tylers have a garden with these beautiful flowers in it. They'd match your dress." Simon smiled at her. She only looked shocked.

"Mr. Miroslav's garden?! You're insane. It's inefficacious for either of us to even try to get in there."

"Not entirely."

River gave Simon a doubtful look. He moved to the doorway and motioned for her to follow. She did, but did so with a clear look of aggravation. "Simon, the wall around that garden is two stories high!"

"I know. There's a way to get over it."

"Safely?!"

"Hm… Perhaps."

"Simon! It's not worth it."

To this, the young man turned at gave his sister a look of such strong affection it silenced her completely. Concealing a blush, River found them stopping at a large window at the end of a hall. From that widow could be seen the top of the aforementioned wall. It was designed to look old-fashioned, out of stone and brick, although it could be clearly seen to have a digital backing.

"You see, from here there's a ledge on the side of the wall." Simon pointed at the ledge that ran across the wall. "There's also a tiny bit of missing brick that are just big enough to let someone climb them—and then there's that low hanging tree branch that's survived at least two dozen storms—" He was cut off. "And you expect to successfully get from the window sill to the tree branch, onto the ledge, climb up the few feet to the top of the wall, and get down how?" River asked, looking at her brother pointedly.

"You remember when we went to the Tylers for tea last year, remember?" The young man asked her, while opening the widow.

"Yes. —Oh, you're going to climb down the trellis?" River replied, watching him get up on the widow sill. Simon nodded. "…You're going to get hurt," she warned him. The young man smiled at his sister affectionately once again. "To see those flowers in your hair while you dance, mei-mei, will be worth it. Besides, the roof of the den is just down there. It's not that long of a drop." Simon motioned to the flat roof of what was the den below them.

"You're going to get into so much trouble… You're trip off the alarm!" she started, frowning slightly. "Not from this high up—they don't count on their neighbors dropping by to steal a few of their flowers."

After this, the young man grabbed onto the tree branch, successfully managing to latch himself onto it and ease his way closer to the wall. Simon was at that stage in life that most boys go through, in which they throw caution to the wind in order to do rather idiotic things for good intentions. Fortunately, he was in one of his more athletic periods in life, that would dwindle away after years of operating on victims of athletic accidents. Unfortunately, it was also one of his more clumsier periods in life as well.

Just as Simon moved to drop down onto the ledge, a sense of panic overwhelmed River. "No! Simon, wait—"

But it was too late, he was already jumping down to the ledge. One of his feet had made contact with stone, but the other had kept falling. River screamed, although Simon could only let out a gasp as he reached out to something that could steady him. His weight was unbalanced however, and he fell from the ledge. The shred of hope that the girl had of Simon landing safely died before it could even be conceived as she realized that the angle at which her brother was falling was just short of the den roof… in fact, he wouldn't be passing it either.

"No!"

And there was a sickening crack as Simon crashed against ledge of the roof, coming down fully onto his upper right arm. He screamed, and slid off of the roof before continuing his descent. Finally, he hit the ground, falling onto his back, winding him. "Simon!" River called from the widow above, before leaving the widow and dashing through the house frantically until she was by his side. She found him conscience, alive, but his breathing was labored and he his eyes were welled up with tears as he clutched his right arm. The sight brought tears to her eyes as well. This was her fault.

"Simon…" His named died on her lips as her senses came to. "I'll get help!"

And after that was a blur to River, too emotionally distraught to recall the details of her calling for help and riding to the hospital with Simon in the ambulance. She could remember the look on his face as he was doped, and it brought fresh tears to her eyes. However, not a moment after they had arrived at the hospital did their parents appear, a looming presence in the room, her mother wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her away from the stretcher Simon had been placed on. When a look of confusion came over the girl's face, her mother rubbed her back gently.

"We heard about what happened and came here right away. The doctors will take care of Simon. He'll be fine—"

"No! But—"

"Come now, you have a recital to get to! You're late." Her father began, smiling reassuringly.

"Recital? —I—I don't care! What about Si—" River had tried to turn around and go back, only to be pulled back by her parents. Her brother was being carried off behind some white doors, the last she could see of him.

* * *

It was frightening how well the stage makeup could hide her puffy eyes, her tearstained cheeks, even her grave expression. That night's performance was horrendous, even if the only person to notice it was River. She had made too many minute mistakes, too many hesitations, too many second guesses, too much overshooting. The crowd thought otherwise, however. Although they cried for an encore, the girl wasn't happier to get off the stage, wanting to go directly up to her parents and demand they return to the hospital. She couldn't reach them, however, the reception starting very shortly after the show and she was still in her costume. Unwillingly, she changed into a gown that made her look several years older than she really was, and joined the party in a separate section of the theater. Upon her arrival there was much pomp and flourish, much to her dismay, and she reluctantly and humbly smiled and accepted the congratulations on her performance. After more time than she would have liked, she finally reached her parents, who looked upon her proudly.

"We need to return to the hospital."

"Now now… River… This party is for you, why don't you enjoy it for a—"

"We need to return to the hospital as soon as possible," the girl began again firmly, getting a look from both of her parents. "River, I'm sorry, but we can't right now. Not with all of these people…"

Inwardly fuming, River's eyes lowered. "How can we not go see him?! Didn't you take a look at him?"

"—Yes, River, but he's in surgery right now. There's nothing we can do."

The girl's lips parted in defeat.


	15. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Apologies_ by **Margie (margarks)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/57253.html)  
>  June 2nd, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (for the naughty sex parts)  
> Summary: River apologizes again for taking Simon out in order to show everyone Miranda.

Simon woke to find River staring solemnly up at him from the foot of the bed. "River?" His throat still rasped from her attack earlier. She blinked, her head tilting slightly to the side as her eyes began to wander the room. "What is it, mei-mei?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Her eyes rolled back to his face and she quirked a brow in that 'my brother is an idiot' way she had. Then she slithered up his body, the rubbing contact making Simon gasp. Her fingers brushed lightly over his Adam's apple as she worried her bottom lip.

"It's all right," he said, haltingly. "I'm all right."

"I had to," River repeated.

"I know," Simon tried to grasp her fingers, tried to make her stop. His body was reacting as any male body would when faced with the curves of a female atop him. Even when his mind screamed that she was his sister.

She laid her head on his shoulder, her big guileless eyes blinking up at him. "I'll make it better." Her lips brushed his throat and he shivered.

"No!" he said, startling her. "I… I mean, you don't have to. It's already better." His hand wrapped around hers, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's black and blue and bursting with colors," River said quietly, though she didn't remove her hand from Simon's. "I'm sorry."

"You don't…" Simon sighed. "You don't have to apologize, mei-mei. I know why you did it."

"I had to."

Sighing again, Simon nodded. "I know."

She lay by him silently for a moment, her breath tickling his collar, then—"You shouldn't lie down."

The words startled him. "Why—?"

"You shouldn't sleep. Miranda sleeps." River's hand suddenly gripped his shirt, bunching the material in her earnestness.

"I won't lie down!" she suddenly screamed, bolting up into a sitting position. Simon tried not to moan when her pelvis rocked over his, pressing her mound against his growing erection. Yesu! What was wrong with him?

"River, please, don't—" He could tell the moment she noticed it. Her eyes widened and she cocked her head, as if assessing the meaning of it all. Then she rocked forward and back, just a little, and this time Simon couldn't help the gasping moan that escaped. Her eyes widened even further, and god help him, but that only made Simon's cock lengthen.

"Can feel you." She rocked again, and Simon's hands went to her hips. He wasn't sure anymore whether he was trying to stop her or help her. "Can _see_ you." She nodded knowingly. "Can see inside. Can hear you here." She thumped the side of her head. "Still mad. Don't be angry Simon. Please." She was moving steadily now, rubbing herself against Simon's erection. "It's all jumbled. Hot and red and tingly like an itch. I'll make it better, I promise." Then, before Simon could protest she grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over. "I _had_ to. Don't be mad, Simon!" she whined, her naked breasts heaving as she rocked above him.

They were small. Simon knew if he reached up his hands would cover them completely. Her nipples were rosy, puckered from the chill of the room, and maybe arousal. He could imagine that her own body was responding to the joining of their groins, as was his. The peaked nubs were large, almost disproportional to her small breasts. He ached to have them in his mouth.

"Go on." River cupped one of her breasts and offered it to him. "I know you want to." She blinked, almost innocently. When Simon froze, unable even to _breathe_ , her mouth turned down into a pout. "Don't you love me, Simon?"

Guilt and shame assailed him, even as he rushed to reassure her. "Of course, I do, mei-mei. I love you. You _know_ that." Heat flooded his cheeks, but he couldn't look away from the tantalizing offer. And when she leaned closer, when the soft tip of her breast brushed his lips, all he could do was moan and open for her.

Then he was tasting her, practically taking her whole breast in his mouth. He sucked, then sucked harder when he heard her gasp, her breast pressing heavily against him. "Mei-mei," he murmured as he moved to her other breast.

"Simon," River gasped.

He twisted until she was beneath him, no longer willing to pretend that he was fighting River's advances. He wasn't fighting. He was craving. He was dying. He was going to that special hell Mal was always talking about. But he didn't care. He had River in his arms, in his bed, and he couldn't do anything but love her as he'd always wanted to.

He drew back and stared at her. She was so beautiful that it made him ache sometimes. Brushing the soft curls of light brown hair from her forehead, he kissed it. "It's going to hurt a little, River," he said softly, moving aside the soft, silky cloth of her underwear and cupping her mound. "But I promise I'll make you feel good before the end, all right?" He let one finger slip between the folds of her slit, rubbing lightly up and down and over her clit.

"I know," she said wisely, arching a little and spreading her legs. "You always take care of me, Simon."

He felt the first gush of her wetness, and his heart beat accelerated knowing that it wouldn't be long. "Because I love you mei-mei. I'll always take care of you." He kissed her lips, taking his time tasting her flavor. "But we mustn't tell the others about this, River. They wouldn't understand. Dong ma?"

River's face scrunched up in a cute amalgamation of confusion and pleasure as Simon pinched and rolled her sensitive flesh. "But they already know, Simon. They know you love me," she said, gasping.

Simon laughed against her mouth and she smiled against his. "Not that, River. Of course they know I love you. I meant, you mustn't tell them _how_ we love. How… how I touch you." He was conscious of the fact he wasn't using the past-tense. That he was silently agreeing to continue this whenever possible.

" _Simon_ ," River pleaded, and Simon answered by pressing a finger into her slick heat. He stretched her, in and out, until he thought she could take a second. His ji ba felt hot and explosive inside his trousers as he slid another finger in beside the first.

"Tell me if it hurts, River, and we'll rest a bit," he said, kissing the corner of her eye.

"No! Want you to love me," she said vehemently.

"I do, mei-mei. I do," Simon said again. His fingers were covered with her juices and he thought she might be as ready as she would ever be so he pulled back and stepped off the bed. She was so lovely, disheveled and flushed on his bed. He stripped quickly and rejoined her. He climbed predatorily back onto the bed and pulled at their last barrier. "Lift up, love," he said, tugging at her panties until they lay crumpled on the floor.

Then he was at her entrance, her long, lithe legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed and felt the wetness of her paint the tip of his cock. " _River_." The name was a guttural groan as the flared head inserted itself between her soft, wet lips.

He felt River tense slightly beneath him and moved to soothe her even as he pulled out and back in, going a bit further each time. "Shhh, River. It will feel good, I promise. Have I ever broken a promise?" he whispered against her neck, his hand finding one of her nipples and rubbing the hard nub.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

He groaned when he encountered the soft wall of her barrier. He knew she'd still been a virgin but after all the tests they'd done he hadn't been sure that the scientists had left her intact. "Brace yourself, mei-mei. I'm sorry," he added just as he plunged in, breaking through her hymen and making her cry out.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry," River chanted beneath him. Simon wasn't sure if she was repeating his last words, or her earlier apology, but either way he kissed her into silence. "Shhhhh."

Then he began to move, slowly, inch by inch, in and out until her breathing evened a bit and she started to thrust back against him. "That's it, River. Perfect. You were always a quick study," he teased and she smiled up at him, thrusting a little harder against him as he pushed inside her.

She felt incredible around him. Hot, tight, eager. She was so slick he had no problem believing she was enjoying this as much as he was. Their hips slapped together, over and over as he loved her. He could feel his balls rasp against her dark curls each time he went deep. His body tightened at each little sound that escaped River's mouth, her harsh panting, the little whines that escaped as he bottomed out.

"That's it, love. Good, isn't it? I promised, didn't I?" Simon reached between them to rub at her clit. At the first touch, River cried out and came. Her body convulsing around him.

Then he was coming, too. Shouting her name and spurting inside of her. A tiny, infinitesimal part of him saddened that he'd given her an innoculation against pregnancy as part of the routine shots she'd received upon awakening from cryo. Even as the rest of him realized how fortunate he was to have done it. And telling himself he would not leave off that shot during her annual exam.

 _Yesu_ , he was going to hell.


	16. Of Scars and Nighttime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Of Scars and Nighttime_ by **Arisa (3libras)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/55998.html)  
>  May 21st, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R for sex, not graphic  
> Genre: Dark-ish, semi-PWP  
> Length: 689 words  
> Summary: Simon makes a mistake while not fully awake. River wants more.

River has many scars, both literally and metaphorically. Scars on her brain, nearly invisible scars on her head, scars on her heart. Sometimes, late at night, the scars on her heart burn and make her scared and make the tears come. On these nights, River crawls into bed with Simon.

Most nights, Simon wakes up, groggily asks her what's wrong, takes her hand, and goes back to sleep. Not this night, however. River crawls into bed like usual, but Simon doesn't groggily ask her what's wrong. Instead, he mumbles "Kaylee," pulls her close, and kisses her. River's eyes go wide as she feels a tingling through her body and a warmth between her legs. River is unable to think of what to do in response, and decides not to do anything. It takes her longer to get to sleep than usual, her heart pounding. She says nothing of it in the morning, and neither does Simon; River knows that he doesn't remember.

River begins to crawl into Simon's bed on a nightly basis, hoping for a repeat of what happened. For weeks, it's just the typical routine; wake up, groggily ask what's wrong, take her hand, go back to sleep. But then it happens again, and River is prepared. She places her hands on his shoulders and returns the kiss, her tongue probing his lips. Simon is a little more alert now, but has not opened his eyes. The crew hadn't been paid in ages, and Kaylee had lost weight, making her and River much closer to the same size. He can't tell the difference based on her figure, and he can't see her face.

River arches her hips against Simon's, grinding gently; he's already hard. A hand gropes River's breast while another slips down to the warmth between her legs. River pulls the blanket over their heads, and is careful to not moan, lest Simon realize that it's not his genius mechanic under the covers next to him. (River thinks that the genius sister is better than the genius mechanic, anyway; knows him better, loves him more.)

Simon is fully awake at this point, and grinding back against River. He pulls down his pants and flips up River's nightdress, pulling her on top of him (the blanket clings to River's head; Simon sees nothing but a silhouette in the very dimly lit room), and he's in her and it burns her, tears. She gasps in pain, but bites her lip, and slowly moves on top of him. It doesn't hurt as much once she starts moving; indeed, after awhile, it starts to feel… really good. She feels filled, in the basest, most primal way. She rides him for what feels like an eternity before Simon starts moaning out Kaylee's name, when his hips begin to jerk harder than before. Losing herself in the moment, she moans out "Oh, Simon," and suddenly everything is very still and very quiet.

Simon pulls out of River and flips her over onto her back (gently, of course; he doesn't want to hurt her, she's his fragile little sister), and in the dim lighting of the room, he can see her face. His face is contorted with shock and horror. "River? What… oh god," he groans, mortified. "Oh no, River, what… I didn't… no, River, go back to your own bed."

"I love you," River whispers, and she winces as she sees him stare at her, pitying. She can hear his thoughts _Doesn't understand, doesn't know what she's doing, can't happen again._

Can't happen again.

"River, go back to your own bed," Simon said quietly. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing away from her, massaging his temple gently. Dejected, River slips out wordlessly and returns to her own bed, trying her hardest to fight back tears. She is unsuccessful.

Simon pretends that nothing has happened, but from that day on, he can't look River in the eye, and she cannot sleep in his bed anymore. When the scars on her heart burn and sting, she is given a soother. It soothes the burn, but she wakes up feeling hollow.


	17. Hansel & Gretel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Hansel & Gretel_ by **redshoeson**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/54615.html)  
>  May 2nd, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: River/Simon, Simon/Kaylee  
> Rating: TV-MA for physical intimacy  
> Word Count: 652  
> Author's Notes: Pre-Firefly and post-Serenity. Written for the [dooooooom](https://dooooooom.livejournal.com) challenge '06, based on the following prompts: shame, crush, adore, smash.

River tastes like peppermint against his tongue, and sugar and spice and cinnamon and nutmeg. He runs his teeth along the length of her neck, picturing gumdrops and lollipops. His lips brush hers and she giggles, the motto of childhood.

They're only playing.

It's only pretend.

River holds her hands steady against his face. "Let's follow the breadcrumbs."

She curls around him; her hair is everywhere. He finds his way through it, tracing his tongue along her skin.

It was just one time.

"River," he says.

"Not River," she says, touching a finger to his lips. "Not for this game."

Simon takes a deep breath. "Who, then?"

"Gretel." She slides her hands underneath his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and onto the floor. "And you are my Hansel."

"It was just a game," he says to Kaylee, wrapping her callused hands in his. "It was just one time."

Kaylee reaches up and touches his face. "You were only playing. It was only pretend."

"Yes," says Simon. "Exactly."

"Hansel," says River, slipping her fingers through his hair, "Hansel."

Simon swallows her up, gingerbread and frosting. He licks the inside of her, laughing at the taste of lemon drops on his tongue. River groans and slides forward into his open mouth.

They're just kids.

"Just kids," says Kaylee, nodding. "Kids is all."

River lies back on the hardwood floor of the dining room. "Come here." She waits while he squirms up until he is at eye level with her. Turning on her side, she slips her hands under her cheek, against the floor. "What do I taste like?"

A blush creeps into Simon's cheeks. "River."

River shakes her head. "Gretel." She grasps one of his hands and places it on her side, where a hip is beginning to show.

"Gretel." Simon nods. "You taste like lemon drops and peppermints."

"You taste like Mercury," he says to Kaylee, "and Pluto and Mars. You taste like every star in the galaxy."

"Go on," says Kaylee, pushing his shoulder, but she kisses him and caresses him.

River's eyes go wide. "I do?" She sits up. "What do you taste like?"

Again, Simon blushes. "Like salt, I think. That's what my books say."

"Let's see," says River.

"No," says Simon. He touches Kaylee's head, brings her back up to his level. "No, I… I don't like that."

Kaylee makes a face at him. "You're the first boy's ever said that to me."

"I'm not a boy," he says. "I'm a man."

"Daddy's little man," says River, smiling at him. She pushes him back and climbs on top of him, her ballerina legs folding underneath her. In a moment, she is sliding him into her. "Oh."

"Simon," says Kaylee. She is underneath him.

"Hansel," says River from above him.

"Simon."

"Hansel."

It is only a game.

Simon recognizes that the heat between River's thighs is created in conjunction with the moistening of her vaginal walls and the retraction of her clitoris. His own body responds as it shouldn't, becoming engorged with venous blood. He sweats and shakes while River rides him, taking in all of him, owning all of his parts.

"Simon," says Kaylee, "how come you never do it with your eyes open?"

"Hansel." River slides off of him and sits down on the floor. "Hansel, the witch is coming."

When they send River away, it isn't because she wants to go to that school. That's their excuse. It's what they tell their friends and what Simon tells the crew of Serenity.

That day in the house, when they were playing, they weren't alone. The maid reports back to Mr. and Mrs. Tam.

River is gone by morning.

"You okay?" says Kaylee, touching his shoulder.

"Yes," says Simon. "It was wonderful."

Kaylee makes a face. "Worries me that you're always cryin' afterwards."

"Not always."

Only the times when he remembers Hansel and Gretel, following the breadcrumbs.


	18. Past the Ordinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Past the Ordinary_ by **redemptionday**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/53740.html)  
>  April 26th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: River breaks them apart, but they'll be back together soon, right?  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Words: 588

River remembered the moment she knew her love for her brother extended past that intended for siblings.

It had been an early morning; the sun was rising and Simon was sat on the window seat of River's room. It had the best view of the house, being the highest room on the only side without buildings shadowing it. He was often there when she awoke, but today it was different. Today he looked sullen, confused; his dark brow was creased deeply in the middle.

She sat up in her bed, dropping the blanket around her waist and gazing over at him. The pale light of the sun glinted strongly in his eyes and she realised with a sinking feeling in her stomach that he was crying.

He only looked around when she stood at his side. She smoothed a hand over his blue-clad shoulder and sat beside him. It was cold despite her thick night clothes. "Simon?"

"River," he said. His voice was quiet as he quickly swiped his fist across his eyes to dash away the tears, hiding from her as usual. As though he could ever do that. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," she lied. She rested her hand at the crease between the collar and his neck. "What's wrong?"

"There isn't anything wrong," he said. "The sun was in my eyes."

She laughed, but it wasn't unkind. "Simon, the sun isn't high enough to be in your eyes yet. Tell me what's wrong."

There was a long pause. River knew her brother; she knew not to interrupt him, and she knew that he'd answer in his own time. For most people he wouldn't answer at all but he couldn't do that to River. Literally. She'd hit him.

When he finally talked, his voice was hesitant and he stumbled over a word or two. "You leave tomorrow."

"I won't be gone forever," she said. They knew, both of them, that her excitement would outweigh the urge to change her mind and stay with him. "I'll be back. With my brain full of things I can share with you. Or keep from you and laugh that you don't know it."

"Brat," he said, and it surprised a laugh out of him. "I know you'll be back. But you'll be gone so long."

"I know you won't forget me," she whispered, lifting her hand to dance slender fingers across the worried creases on his forehead. "I'll come back for you. You'll be the dashing young Doctor and I'll be the genius of the family."

For once, Simon didn't rise to the bait. He just smiled, the happiness twitching at the corners of his lips. "You will," he said. He took a deep breath. "But… I am going to miss you."

She kissed him, then. She had meant it as a platonic, sisterly kiss goodbye; her parents would never allow it before them. At the last minute she found her lips lingering and her hand pressing cold against his cheek but he didn't pull away. She could feel him closing his pretty eyes and their hearts beat together, just like in all the stories River secretly read. It was perfection.

But it wouldn't last. Simon was tensing and she pulled away before he could. She had to be the one leaving; if Simon left her, she wouldn't survive. And she knew her brother would struggle.

"I love you," she whispered, and there was such depth to it that Simon couldn't answer. It didn't matter.

River knew.


	19. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Touch_ by **petit_oiseau11**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/52941.html)  
>  April 22nd, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG for some implied behavior and some mild overt behavior as well

He had just been drifting off into that warm weighty stupor of sleep when he was roused by the sound of rustling fabric and the light touch of cool fingertips on his bare arm.

"Simon?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

"River? What?" His voice was thick in his throat, groggy from half sleep. His mind however, was fully awake, as a thin razor of panic struck at his chest.

It had not been unusual before, that River would creep into his room late at night, having woken from her nightmares and feverish dreams, looking for the quiet and tangible comfort of her brother's arms. He would sit with her, pull her close, tenderly stroking her hair or gently wiping the tears from her cheeks and whisper reassurances in a soothing, low tone, similar to the one he had often heard Mal use on the infrequent occasions when they were transporting horses or cattle as cargo, in order to lure the animals into the loading bay.

But now, after Miranda, her nightmares had become sporadic, and far between, for which he was thankful. And as a result, her midnight visits to his bedroom likewise, waned. Her presence tonight then, was unexpected, and thus the reason, unusual and cause for concern.

"What's wrong? Are you ok?" He tried to keep his voice even to mask the fear he could feel gathering in a lump in the back of his throat. In the darkness he felt the mattress sink near his thigh, and the quick, smooth touch of skin on his leg. She was sitting beside him.

"I'm fine." Her voice seemed to hover above him though she had not shifted from her place on the bed.

"Turn on the light," she said, "I want to see you."

He reached to his left to flick the switch on the nightstand. The room appeared in a half light that enveloped the bed and cast a dim glow on the girl sitting before him. Her legs were folded neatly beneath her and her eyes were hidden by the strands of brown hair that dangled in front of her face.

"What are you doing? Did you have a nightmare?" Simon shifted to sit up so that he was level with her body.

"No. I want to talk with you." She had not moved from her position on the bed, not even to brush the hair out of her eyes. It made her expression impossible to read and that made him uneasy.

"River, it's late." He tried to exaggerate the tiredness of his voice, hoping to prompt her return to her own bed.

"Can't this wait until morning?"

"No, now." Her voice was soft but the tone was firm. He would not dismiss her.

"Alright," he said, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck.

He supposed the frank manner of her statement should not have surprised him; she had always been direct, even during her less lucid periods, though he might not have always been able to comprehend her meaning.

"You don't touch me anymore." There was something in the way she said the words, sharp, almost accusatorial. He gave a sudden snort, as if choking and hurriedly cleared his throat.

"What?" He was so convincing with his incredulous tone that he almost believed himself to be surprised.

"River, what are you talking about?"

"Don't feign ignorance, Simon. It doesn't suit you." She sat on the bed, still as a statue, seemingly waiting for his next response. It was clear it would be best if he just went along.

"What? River, of course I touch you," he hoped she could not hear the hollowness of his voice, though it would not matter, she would know its falsity, regardless.

"No, Simon. You don't. Not like you used to. You know it." At this she gathered the wayward strands of hair covering her face and tucked them behind her ears. He could see her eyes clearly now and they blazed with such intensity in the dim light that he felt as if she might burn a hole straight through to the back of his skull. 

Her next movement was so swift and cat-like he barely had time to react. She moved, though he would more aptly describe it as sprung, from her place on the bed to a crouching position at its head, with her slender lithe legs straddling his lap and her face only inches from his own. She caught him so off guard he did not have time to shift or distance himself. She stared at him, her eyes unblinking and her small pink lips parted slightly. He could feel the warm beats of her breath flutter in rhythm against his chin and a familiar sensation blooming at the base of his stomach, which terrified him. If he craned his neck a mere two inches he could touch her with his lips.

He could not deny the truth of her words. In the first few months of their reunion, the physicality of caring for her had come so easy. Even on her best days, she was like a small child, needing care and attention, a soothing loving touch of his hand on her cheek, a brief kiss on the crown of her head while he held her close, singing almost forgotten lullabies of their youth into her ear while she drifted to sleep. He was her protector, more than her brother, almost a parent in the way he cared for her. Her condition had required it and he gladly gave.

But now, after her relief from the secrets of Miranda, he was unable to express his love and concern for her in the same way. A quiet shifting had occurred between them. For, she was no longer that girl-child who needed his constant care and attention. She was stronger now; coherent and capable, despite that she remained quiet and withdrawn. She was much less talkative than he remembered her being, before he had become a doctor and she was held captive by the Alliance. Her words were clear, but few now. She had stopped speaking to herself and others in garbled metaphors and frightened whispers, which only she had understood, but she spoke less often. There were days that if she were not directly spoken to, she would not speak at all. He tried to convince himself this was just a newfound solemnity after all she had been through.

There were other subtle yet definite changes in her behavior; in the poised and graceful way she held her shoulders, the slow purposeful sway of her hips as she floated along the ship's walkways. He was aware of her sudden shift in her perception of herself, manifested in these changes. Despite the lost years at the Academy, and the nearly 11 months she had spent on Serenity, locked within her own mind, her body had continued to keep in step with time and she now embodied all the allure and promise of a young woman. It seemed inappropriate, almost indecent, for him to coddle her as he had done before. There was no reason, no excuse he could use now to allow for such intimate touches and gestures. And for his own secret, shameful reasons he was almost grateful for it. But River, it seemed, would not let him keep his skeletons buried.

"You're afraid now," she said with fierce matter-of-factness. Simon squirmed under her weight and tried to lift his arm to gently push River off and away from him, but she was too quick for him and pinned his arms to the mattress. She did not shift from her crouched position and firmly kept his body trapped under the weight of hers

"You're afraid," she repeated again in a hushed whisper. "Because you remember… because _I_ remember."

Simon squeezed his eyes tight, wishing he could block out her words, wishing he could block out the images in his mind, ones which had stayed so fresh over the past few years, no matter how hard he had tried to black them out.

"Look at me," she said it softly, entreatingly. When he didn't respond, she continued. "It was the day before I left for the Academy and we were hiding in the poppy fields…" her voice trailed off into the still air. He opened his eyes. She lifted a single finger and traced the edges of his trembling lips. She smiled at him knowingly and he felt as if she was branding him with the scorching heat of her fingertips.

"We were lying in the grass and you turned to me…" she stopped at the sharp intake of his breath beneath her fingers and the threatening glassiness of his eyes. "How awful it must have been for you," she whispered, "having to wait for me through all of this. Waiting for me to remember."

"River, I…" He whispered against her skin.

"Shhh, I know Simon." She spoke to him softly, in an almost obliging tone, one, which he had so often used with her. It occurred to him that their roles had become reversed; she was the soother, and he the one seeking comfort. But beneath this, he could feel that secret persistent longing, which he had tried so hard to quell since the years she had first left him, since that afternoon in the poppy fields. When she had been returned to him, broken in pieces, with the mind and demeanor of a child, he thought that at last he could separate from his shame. Her need was far greater than his. She was so unlike the girl he remembered; she was so fragile and seemingly helpless he found his desire to shelter her, to fix her, eclipsed any other urges in his heart. He could finally become that which he was supposed to be to her, her protector, her brother. And as the months went on he had almost forgot that he had ever been anything else. He did not even worry, after a while, what the outcome would be, what sort of River waited for him, should he succeed in fixing her.

Now he knew, and had know ever since Miranda. He had a growing notion of it prior to this evening, a realization which had prompted him to cease calling her by anything other than her name (no longer was she his mei-mei) and to avoid any unnecessary contact with her skin.

"There is no shame _pin_ *," she whispered. "I remember Simon. And I need you to act like you do too." She shifted then, finally, moving her hips to grind her body into his lap. He gasped behind her fingertips and she could feel his body respond.

"Will you?" She spoke with a voice tinged with seduction and a hint of desperation. The light in her eyes and the movements of her body were enough and he felt as if his brain was melting, and with it all logical, rational thought.

"Yes," he whispered haltingly just before he parted his lips to brush his tongue against the tips of her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _pin=lover_ or so the online Chinese dictionary I referenced, states. If not, I apologize, but just go with it


	20. Aching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Aching_ by **Jacqui (wily_one24)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/51633.html)  
>  March 29th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17, like whoa.  
> Pairing: River/Kaylee/Simon.

Kaylee breathes heavily, happily, as she rests for just a second, her forehead pressing into the muscles of Simon's chest and her knees clinging to his hips, gripping tight. She feels his right hand on the top of her hair and his left hand on her waist, holding her steady, holding her still. Ready to guide her when she starts again.

Her tongue licks the groove above his sternum, the word flying through her brain in his voice, and he stirs inside her. It makes her grin.

"Stop it." The voice makes her sit up, it's instinctual, but it grinds her further down on him and they both groan. "Just stop it."

"River?" Simon pants. "What are you doing in here? We talked about personal space…"

"I can't take it," River moans low as she leans against the back of the door. "You're both there. And you won't leave. I feel it."

The blanket slips down her back, sliding against her skin, and Kaylee shivers as she looks over her shoulder.

"River, sweetie, are you okay?"

"Never, not like this." But it's not pain Kaylee sees on River's face, not the bad kind anyway. "You build it and you build it, the two of you, fire and boiling and threading and pushing and pulling, building and building and then you explode, but you leave me aching."

"Oh god." Simon shifts under her and his fingers slide down her head and over her shoulders.

She watches River lean against the door, her shoulders pressing into it and her fingers splayed over the surface, her knuckles turning white with the tension.

"Why don't you…" Kaylee raises her eyebrows. "…take care of yourself?"

"I try." If it was louder, it would be a wail, but it's just a whisper, long and drawn out. "I build and I build, but it's too much and I can't do it."

She wonders if River even knows her hand has crept over her thigh and her fingers are inching the bottom of her dress up as she speaks.

"You can," Kaylee assures her.

"We are not talking about this." Simon sits up and pulls out of her, slow and still hard. "Not now."

"I can't. It's too much."

Kaylee knows the idea of too much, she remembers being in her early teens and discovering herself for the first time, the hesitancy, the pleasure, the inability to gauge her own reactions. She can't even imagine what it's like for someone with no control at all.

"River." She says it gently as she turns around, standing up. "Just don't let go."

"But…"

"Kaylee!"

"She needs help, Simon." If it's obvious to her, it should be obvious to him. "We can't leave her like this. We started it."

"Kaylee?" She can see River's eyes dilate the closer she gets.

She's never been shy about girls.

"Just." She's kissed them before. "Don't." Ran her hands down their arms. "Let." Joined her hands with theirs. "Go."

Her fingers mingle with River's and Kaylee can feel the heat between her thighs, feels the shock of bare skin where there should be underwear, feels the slickness of River's desire as she presses both their fingers up inside her.

River moans.

* * *

He shouldn't be watching this. Simon knows it. He definitely knows he shouldn't be enjoying it. Watching Kaylee, naked, pressing herself into River, watching River's eyes close and her mouth fall open, little pearly teeth and succulent red mouth gasping for breath.

Buddha help him, he can feel himself grow harder.

Feels his balls tighten as his eyes follow the movement, the back of Kaylee's elbow sawing forward and back again. Feels his mouth grow dry as he takes in a drop of moisture in the middle of Kaylee's back, sitting in the hollow just above her naked buttocks.

And the sound, dear lord, the sounds of it. River's breathy little moans and Kaylee's mouth sucking at her neck and something else, something he doesn't want to think about, thick and wet and ringing in his ears.

He doesn't know when and why he stood up, but he can't stop himself reaching out to touch Kaylee's back, run his hand over her shoulder and kiss the nape of her neck. Wrong, his brain says, but his body isn't listening and neither are theirs.

Her eyes, River's eyes, are big and brown and they look up at him. Brown, with large, black pupils taking over and he thinks her lips move, thinks it's his name she gasps, but he's not sure.

Kaylee's arm is warm as his hand travels down it, warm and hot and somehow it becomes two arms and he's guiding both their movements as Kaylee leans her head back and rests it on his shoulder.

Simon kisses her jaw line, sucks at the hot, salty skin and moans through her skin when he feels River lean forward and kiss the other side of her throat. His eyes snap open and he kisses Kaylee's neck harder, as if he can kiss through her skin, suck the taste of River's mouth all the way through.

It's a second between thinking it and making it happen, dipping his knees down and hooking Kaylee's hips up, taking her from behind, pushing back in. Then he's got his hand on the wall next to River's head as he thrusts.

Pounding into Kaylee. Pounding Kaylee further into River.

"Simon," he hears River gasp. "Harder."

* * *

She can feel them, feels them both, and it's nothing like the echoes they throw at her. Half used, discarded strands of desire and urge. It's fresh and raw and inescapable and she doesn't even want to escape it, she wants it to last forever.

She wants it to explode, to fracture their molecular framework that she becomes Kaylee and Kaylee becomes Simon and so on until no one can recognize them, until they might as well be one and the same.

River has one hand working furiously with Kaylee, slick and wet and covered, Simon's skin guiding them both. She reaches between them, draws one finger down the curve of Kaylee's belly and over the rise of her pubis.

It's a gasp of shock as she feels the give of pulsing skin, blood rushing fast through vessels too close to the surface, filling an organ meant for nothing but Kaylee's pleasure. The tips of her fingers feel the hot, hard length of Simon as it slides into Kaylee, feels the juices that slide between them, and River caresses them both, urges them both on.

River is no longer a River, she's a flood, a torrent of crashing, breaking waves. And she cries out loud, pushed further than she knew she could be. She leans her head forward and grabs Simon's mouth with her teeth, pulling him closer, forcing his mouth to hers and she tastes his tongue, tastes Kaylee's mouth in him.

She feels a wet mouth on her chin, Kaylee, demanding access and she lets go of Simon to accommodate her, to let Kaylee's tongue find its way inside, let Kaylee devour her mouth. Simon's groans are speeding up and his legs are shaky and she can feel Kaylee trembling harder and harder.

Kaylee falls first, crying out into River's mouth and leaking onto her hand. Simon follows and she can feel him pulse between her fingers, feels it mix with Kaylee. The both of them slump forward, exhausted and breathless, surges of power that rip through River.

They won't leave her aching tonight.


	21. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Flight_ by **Aimeeuth**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/51100.html)  
>  March 21st, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quadrabble, 400 words.

Simon remembers River, in all her different forms. He remembers baby River, with her gurgling mouth and downy hair, whose first word was 'Simon'. He'd cradled her in his arms, and vowed to be her prince, her protector, her knight in shining armour, her one and only…

He remembers toddler River, already spewing out words far too big for her tiny baby mouth. She'd had chubby hands that felt hot and sweaty in his, and skinny delicate knees (dancers legs at age two, yes she was always destined to be a dancer) and she'd first crawled whilst trying to follow him. She became his shadow, a piece of him, and he let her.

He remembers the girl River, a child of play games starring dinosaurs and the Independents, a genius of epic proportions, theories on quantum mechanics and time space continiums already floating in her head. She was _precocious_ to some, _unnerving_ to others, but to him, she was simply… a gift.

Most of all, he remembers dancer River, a half girl, half woman with an awkward grace, and gangly long limbs. He'd watched her on stage, float around in rose iridescent shimmering tulle, and he'd wanted to dance with her, press her body to his, raise her up to the heavens and hold her as she came floating down.

Now, she only dances on very good days, but Simon got his wish fulfilled after all. When she kisses him (his sister, his darling, his _mei-mei_ ) her tongue unfurls in his mouth, and her mouth blossoms under his, and she tastes wrongly right (or is it rightly wrong?).

Later, in the half-light of their quarters, he pushes her up to heaven, and she clings to him with arms and legs, like she used to cling to her old childhood swing when he pushed her. She still implores him like she used to ( _faster, Simon, faster!_ ) but her meaning is far less innocent now. Afterwards, he holds her as she comes down, bodies shivering (his with cooling sweat, hers for other reasons) and he hates himself. He hates himself not for what he is doing with sister, because that was always inevitable, but because he is glad in a secret place in his heart that he is all she has now.

Now, he can finally be her prince, her protector, her knight in shining armour…

Her one and only.


	22. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Snow_ by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/47639.html)  
>  February 21st, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Summary: River and Simon play in the snow. Disappointingly unsmutty.

_Snow_ , she thinks automatically, even though the first time she ever saw snow was only yesterday. It never snowed on the Tam Estate; climate control.

Snow  
n.  
1\. Frozen precipitation in the form of white or translucent hexagonal ice crystals that fall in soft, white flakes.  
2\. A falling of snow; a snowstorm.

 _Pretty_ , she thinks, _pretty_.

She sticks out her tongue, to let a silver star melt there, as more fall and decorate her eyelashes with flecks of white. She twirls spontaneously, and catches sight of her brother's shape several yards away. She mischeviously rolls up a snowball and throws it at him.

"Wha—River!"

She giggles, and he throws one at her in return. His aim is terrible, though, and after a few more failed attempts, he gives up and simply charges at her. They tumble into a snowbank, and both are laughing so hard they have to gasp for air.

 _Just one fleeting moment of happiness_ , she thinks, before the thought is blown away by the swiftly gathering wind.


	23. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Rain_ by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/47569.html)  
>  February 21st, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: Come on, who doesn’t want to see Simon and River kiss in the rain?

River likes the rain. Not the undecided drizzle, or the boring, constant rain, nor even the foggy, misty kind, but the full-out rainstorms. Today it's pouring, here on this Rim planet in the middle of nowhere, and she's pirouetting outside by herself. Mal and Zoe have gone on some job, and everyone else refuses to leave the ship, but River slipped out when no one was looking. She tilts her head up to the swiftly falling drops, and closes her eyes.

" _Mei-mei_? Are you out here?"

She opens her eyes and focuses on Simon, running towards her.

"River, you shouldn't be out here, you'll catch cold!"

"Won't, she's too good at hiding. Catch you, though!"

And she leaps at him. She takes him by surprise, and knocks them both into a huge puddle. He sits up and wipes his face, coughing and spluttering.

"You—you _whelp_!"

"Urchin."

"Cub."

"Jackanapes."

"Rascal."

" _Whippersnapper_!"

He gives up and breaks into a fit of giggles, and then she reaches out to touch his face. She follows the little streams of water running down his cheeks, and down over his throat, and then runs her fingers over his chest. His laughter dies down.

"What are you—River?"

She leans forward and experimentally presses her lips to his, cutting him off. His eyes flutter closed, but he quickly takes her by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her away.

" _Mei-mei_ , we can't do this, do you understand?"

"Can."

He doesn't see how he can argue with that. He twists a finger at his temple and keeps trying, trying to make her understand how it's _wrong_ and _immoral_ , trying to come up with a plausible reason for himself, too, and trying not to name the feelings coursing through him.

"No, see, um, we're family—siblings, really, and, uh…"

She smiles gently at his bumbling attempts to say anything coherent, and hushes him.

"There is no power in the 'verse can stop me, Simon."

And as he breathes out, deeply, she pulls him to her again, and they lie back almost in slow motion and kiss hungrily as any thoughts of stopping are washed away in the little rivers all around them.


	24. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Family_ by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/46963.html)  
>  February 20th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Summary: The crew of Serenity is a family, but where does River fit in? Ye gods, I'm getting angstified.

River likes to think of the crew as a family. Mal is the father, of course—protective, and sometimes loving, but never demonstrative. Inara is the mother, because alluring as she is, she's also maternal and comforting. Kaylee is the baby, with her appealing sort of charm and occasional naïveté. Jayne would make a passable older brother, always saying vulgar things at the wrong time or clashing with Mal—she still doesn't quite trust him. Zoë and Wash might be the aunt and uncle, and the Shepherd could be the grandfather.

She isn't sure how she fits in, though, or Simon, either. They're their own family unit, interdependent on each other, but independent from everyone else. And so it hurts her when Simon begins to be part of the crew himself. She knows she's always going to be different, on the outside, never one of them. She needs him, needs him to be her father and brother and family all in one. He has to be hers and hers alone.

But he isn't, and it tears at her soul.


	25. Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Not Enough_ by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/46609.html)  
>  February 19th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: River wants more than Simon has to give.

She knows he loves her, loves her forever and beyond, loves her enough to give up the 'verse to save her, but it's not enough. She wants him to love her like he loves Kaylee, like Wash loves Zoe, like Mal loves Inara. She doesn't want the love a brother gives his beloved baby sister, she wants the love a man gives a woman.

Sometimes she watches him when he's with Kaylee. She dangles from the ceiling and tilts her head to one side with interest. She thinks he might have seen her once, but she twisted herself out of his range of vision as Kaylee pulled him down into another kiss. It's at times like these when she wants to hurt Kaylee, wants it with every fibre of her being, wants to kill her like she did the Reavers, but another part of her mind, a small but determined part, tells her this would be wrong. It's one of the things she's more sure of, but sometimes temptation is almost too much for her. Then she goes into her room and curls up in a corner.

At night, when Kaylee isn't with him, she goes into Simon's room and kneels by his bed, listening to his quiet breathing. Once in a while he'll wake up and sleepily murmur, "Mei-mei? What's wrong?" Then she can get into bed with him, and pretend just for a moment that he loves her the way she wishes he did.

But it's not enough. Never, never enough.


	26. Vital Statistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Vital Statistics_ by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/46438.html)  
>  February 17th, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13, for heavily implied Simon/River sex. *grins*  
> Summary: River might not exist but for Simon.

Name: River Tam.

She likes her name, she really does. When she dances, she drifts, she glides. In Simon's arms, too, she seems to float.

Age: Seventeen.

It's not as if she's _underage_ or anything, she's old enough. She's not exactly sane enough, but that's beside the point. She can make her own decisions. And her decision is to love Simon.

Gender: Female.

She's never much liked the word "gender." What is she supposed to say, anyway? Let's have gender. Make gender to me. Oh god, yes, Simon, gender me.

Hair: Brown.

She was always terribly stubborn about putting her hair up when she danced. She liked it long. Now, she loves it when Simon can take the time to brush it out for her, afterwards, when it gets tangled and wet.

Eyes: Black.

Her eyes are the color of storm clouds, of water running in a stream at dusk, so black they are almost blue. Simon didn't inherit the trait from their grandmother, but River did.

Height: 1.73 m.

She doesn't think of her height, except in relation to other people. And with Simon, she's just the right height to snuggle her head in the warm space between his head and shoulder when they sit together, to lay her cheek on his chest when they lie together, and to hear his heartbeat.

Without Simon, she thinks she might just fade away, slip into the shadows and never come back. Yes, she often feels that what she is, who she is, has no meaning at all, except what he gives her. But that is enough.


	27. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Untitled by **chumpchkin**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/45742.html)  
>  February 16th, 2006

They've always been yin and yang, two halves of a whole. He is talent, she is genius. She is hurt, he is protection. He is stability, she is confusion.

_Night. Day._

_Anguish. Clarity._

She doesn't see why it should be any different, here in bed together. Moving as one. And here they are so unified that it is no longer definite where one body, one soul ends and the other begins. A hand caresses a shoulder, but it isn't clear who it belongs to. Simon presses his lips to River's throat, and she isn't sure if her throat has given or received the kiss.

_Guilt. Liberation._

It feels so wrong, and yet so right. They fit in each other's arms so well it's as if they've been designed that way.

_Chaos. Perfection._

A sigh, a moan, a whimper. A sharp intake of breath.

_Pain. Pleasure._

Whose pain, whose pleasure? Does it even matter?

_Yin. Yang._

A gliding, a floating of bodies to a stop.

A murmur.

"Two halves of a whole, Simon…"


	28. Reconfiguring the System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Reconfiguring the System_ by **heaven_eyes**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/42876.html)  
>  December 29th, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: River's not just a weapon.  
> Rating: PG

_"Are you a girl, whole and true or just a weapon?"_ That was the question that rang in Simon's ears, all those months on Serenity. The question that led them to Miranda and then to Mr. Universe's place and finally here to this place, where they gather round to mourn Book and Wash's deaths. River stands next to him and squeezes his hand. Her eyes say _are you sad, Simon?_ and her fingers say _don't let go_ and Simon closes his eyes and thinks of Serenity flying through the deep, deep black.

After the funeral, they go back to the ship. Serenity's still a wreck after what happened but they've been doing their best to fix her these past few days. And Simon's wound has been healing faster than he thought it would so much so that he can now walk about the ship. When Simon has finished helping Kaylee, he finds River fixing things. He watches her. Nimble fingers, quick and deft, graceful hands; she makes it look so easy. She's happier, he can tell. Even though there's a shadow hanging over all of them, the shadow of Wash's death; the burden of Miranda's secret is gone. Her eyes look brighter and there's a light in them that he hasn't seen in years, not since River left for the Academy.

"Mei-mei," he says. "Are you okay?"

River looks up from what she's doing. She smiles when she sees him, big and bright and Simon remembers a time when she would crawl into his bed when she couldn't sleep and curl up in the crook of his arm. And in that bed, nothing could touch them because it was RiverandSimon against the 'verse. But that was a long time ago now and so much has changed ever since then, everything has changed. They're both different now, him and River.

"Simon," she says. "Want to help?" She offers him a drill and he studies it.

"What exactly _are_ you doing, River?"

"Reconfiguring the system," she says like it's obvious. Simon smiles and reaches out a hand to stroke her hair. She's still not the River he knew in Capitol City (his little sister the genius who corrected his spelling at the age of three, strong and bright and radiant) but she isn't the ghost of a girl who shivered and clung to him as she climbed out of the box (broken and fragile and lost). She's a new River who's broken and beaten yet still standing tall.

She looks at him as if she knows what he's thinking. "Don't have to take care of me always, Simon. River can take care of herself. The ghosts that lay down on Miranda," she says. "They're gone. Left there. They aren't inside me anymore."

Simon nods. She reaches out a hand to trace his wound from the fight with the Reavers, fingers whispering over his skin and he flinches involuntarily. "Just a scar, Simon," she whispers and Simon's breath hitches. More than anything he wants to heal her scars, not the ones on the outside but on the inside. But those are the hardest ones of all to fix.

"Of course. I never thanked you for saving me, mei-mei," he says and for some reason, there's a lump in his throat now and he can barely get the words out.

She looks back at him and he remembers. (Pain, white hot like fire, spreading through him and River bending over him. ‘You've always taken care of me, Simon. You always take care of me. My turn,’ and through the haze of pain, he can see her running through the doors, graceful as a bird, the way she used to dance back in the Core and in his head the music dips and swells and he knows. She's not a weapon because weapons don't love, don't think, don't act unless they're told to and River isn't one. She's a girl who can think and act. And most of all, she can _love_. She's his mei-mei, strong and tough, his beautiful little sister.)

"I can fight, Simon," she says. "I can fix things. Don't have to worry about me." She finishes untangling the bunch of wires and holds it up to him to see. He wishes he could untangle everything in her, all the mistakes they've made, the trials she had to endure, the horrors she's seen, the pain she's felt, wishes he could erase it all and give her back her innocence. But he realizes, that can never and should never happen. He loves her now, with all her pain and all her sorrow. If he takes it all back, undoes her past, she wouldn't be the girl she is today and he loves this girl, his little sister whose eyes look older than her years, who takes care of him just as much as he takes care of her. She's not perfect yet, not exactly right but there's a strength inside her, a will that won't let her get beat and Simon smiles to see it.

Just then, Mal pokes his head into the room. "Engine's up and runnin'. I see you've fixed it, little one." He bends over and checks the wires that River has been fiddling around with for the past few hours. "That ain't half bad. We'll be flyin' in a few days."

River smiles with pride. "I'm not a weapon," she says.

"Can't rightly say you are." And Mal smiles one of those rare smiles before he nods at Simon and walks out.

Simon stands up and they both walk outside. It's raining, droplets of water, splashing on the ground. The sky is a palette of blues and grays and there's water dripping everywhere, washing out the old and waiting for the new.

River comes up behind him and slips her hand in his. Her eyes are dancing. She'd always loved it when it rained. She squeezes his hand and Simon doesn't want to, never wants to let go.


	29. He Plays Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_He Plays Games_ by **lethal_paine**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/42259.html)  
>  December 23rd, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 for sexual implications and maybe someother stuff  
> Pairings: Simon/River, Simon/Kaylee, implied Jayne/River  
> Comments:What if Simon didn't realize his exact feelings for River until after he had been with Kaylee, when there was a chance that she had found someone else?  
> [This was actually inspired by two songs while I was at work, "Dammit" by Blink 182 and "The Velourium Camper II: Backend Of Forever" by Coheed and Cambria. If you know 'em, shiny.]

The young doctor was making an effort to wipe the dopey smile off of his face as he reached the hall after climbing up from Kaylee's bunk. As he was doing so, he was making sure his hair didn't seem too mussed, or his shirt too disheveled… for he was just coming back from a rather… passionate… conversation with Kaylee. Just as he was passing down the hall. however, he had to stop upon hearing a rather unexpected sound. It was coming from what he had gathered to be Jayne's bunk, which hadn't been fully shut.

_…What?_

That couldn't be what he thought it was. It just couldn't. It was absurd.

But as sure as there was no oxygen in space, the sound of heavy breathing, accompanied by occasional squeals and grunts, could not escape his ears. Those voices were unmistakably the owner of that bunk, and no other than… But River would never…

Then again, Simon had said that River wouldn't do a number of things that she had, in the past, actually ended up doing. But this… He didn't dare move to further investigate, too afraid to see what he would find. Simon felt frozen standing there in the middle of the hall, dumbstruck. It just didn't make any sort of sense… why would she… and with _Jayne?_

It couldn't have been happening. It was too insane. Biting the inside of his lip, Simon resolved to pretend that he had never heard anything. As he was about the exit the hall, he heard the sound of giggling grow louder. Unable to help himself from turning around to look, he spotted, to his horror, his little sister nimbly climbing up from the bunk and sprightly hopping into the hall. Gray eyes widened slightly and stared. The girl smiled to herself and turned to look at Simon, the smile fading. Small hands were distracted with straightening out the hem of the dress she wore, but her gaze was trained upon him.

"He plays games. She can play too."

And with those words, River cooly walked out of the hall and into the stairway to the passenger dorms. Simon was left there, still staring, mouth slightly agape.

* * *

He refused to approach her about it, and life continued on as if nothing had happened. However, there was a slight difference. Simon found himself increasingly distracted, enough to knock over a few vials in the infirmary as he was trying to clean. His eyes avoided Jayne more than usual, as if looking at him would make Simon recall an image of some obscene act the mercenary and his sister might have performed. His time spent with Kaylee became slightly more awkward, afraid that he would be "caught" himself by his sister and be left with another cryptic message alluding to her being… intimate… with Jayne. Although no one seemed to notice, Simon felt his distraction growing as time passed, and at that point, half a week's time since the incident.

Then there was the time he spent alone with his sister. He felt stiff around her, and he knew she would have some inclination as to why his behavior had altered. Despite this… River did nothing. Acted as if nothing had happened. Simon felt something definitely strange, nearly to the point of wondering if anything had really happened at all. After another week had passed, he put it behind him, passing it off as some strange dream or imagined event.

That would change, however, when the crew picked up a job two weeks after the incident. All seemed normal, everyone but Kaylee and Simon out on the job (while Inara out on business). Their time spent alone together was quite… worthwhile. However, upon the crew's return, something happened. The job had been successful, as could be told from everyone's rather cheerful expression (that was, other than Zoe, who seemed to be smiling much less ever since… her loss). Simon and Kaylee had both been sure to be in the cargo hold to greet everyone upon their return. Jayne was one of the first to hop off of the mule, satisfied look on his face. But the next event was what made Simon's blood run cold.

River, who was also moving to get off of the mule, was met with a eagerly helping Jayne, who promptly took her by the waist as she was climbing down, and set her on the ground. Jayne nodded and looked to Simon. And smiled. "Little-sister here really knows how to shoot a gun." The girl only smiled up at the mercenary, before walking off. Simon put all of his effort into not gaping. "Yep… 'Stole it clean off yer person." Zoe said to Jayne as she too got off the mule. "Ooh! What happened?" Kaylee began excitedly, looking from Zoe to Jayne curiously. The captain spoke up next, crossing in front of Simon and Kaylee. "Things started looking ugly. Man came out and meant to threaten us with a gun. Our albatross here saw him coming 'fore any of us did, pulled a piece right outta Jayne's holster and shot 'em dead."

"Damn right she did, the moonbrain." Jayne started again, looking off in the direction River had exited as he began to unpack the mule. The expression on his face was nearly… admiring. Simon felt faint. Instead of fainting, however, he kept his composure and merely nodded, turning away from the crew. He needed to be alone for a few moments. Or an entire day. So, the doctor shut himself up in the infirmary for the rest of the day, ignoring the call for dinner that night and then again for breakfast the next morning.

While there, Simon thought. And he reasoned. What was it about the… situation bothered him so much? Well, of course… it involved River… and it involved Jayne… and it involved River being involved with Jayne. Of course the idea of River that way with anyone was going to catch him off guard, most of all with Jayne. She was his sister, after all, his… mei-mei.

There was a hurt, an emotional pain, in Simon's heart, that had been present from the moment the thought of River with someone else passed through his mind. Of course, and Simon had been over this before in his mind, he couldn't expect River to remain dependent upon him for the rest of their lives. In fact, he remembered on various occasions hoping that she would one day become independent from him enough for them to live their own lives. But he surely hadn't intended her to share it with the one person on the ship that had once sold them out…

 _That_ was it. Jayne had no intention of sharing a life with his sister, he was sure of it. A man that lived a life like his couldn't afford such an attachment. But surely River knew this… And perhaps that's what was bothering Simon. Maybe River had no intention of sharing her life with Jayne as well… Maybe she was just having a good time…

But Simon could swear that River wasn't that type of girl.

She had said something to him that first day, Simon had nearly forgotten it by then. 'He plays games. She can play too.' What could that have meant? —Something prodded at Simon's mind, but he pushed it away, not wanting to think about it. It couldn't have been an allusion to what went on between her and Jayne… Could it? Could it be that River had been alluding to the sex games she was playing with Jayne?

At the time of that particular revelation, Simon broke a vial.

That theory was rejected.

Then what could it's meaning been then?

' _He_ plays games. She—' From what he could gather, meant ' _I_ can play too.' Who was 'he'? Since River most likely had been referring to herself in the third… than the other must have been objective… as opposed to…

' _You_ play games. I can play too.'

Simon's lips parted at this, brow furrowing. River had been addressing him then? —What games were they playing? _What_ was she playing at?

River knew more about people, the crew at least, than anyone else could even guess. She was more than intuitive she— _She_ was a Reader. …Could it have been that… —No.

That prodding in Simon's mind returned, and turned into outright stabbing then.

Just before River had spoken to him, before he had heard _anything_ , he had been with Kaylee. Not only that time, but frequently, it was possible that River could have picked up on his thoughts… his… feelings… and decide to play the same game he was. It wasn't a game, though, it was very—

And the young doctor's thoughts were suddenly cut off, and he jumped in surprise. He had turned to the door, only to find River standing there in the doorway.

"River! I didn't see you…" He managed, looking down to see if he had dropped anything (and to avoid her eye). The girl walked into the room, to stand in front of him. Sheepishly, he met her gaze. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Fun and games, Simon."

He frowned, placing a hand on River's shoulder. "River, I don't—"

"You do. Very well, in fact, but you haven't got it complete yet. Keep going." She gave him a reassuring smile, before pulling back. "Jayne's wondering where I am." And once again… she left. Simon had been fairing well, although a bit confused, until her last comment. It stung him, nearly smarted as if he had been slapped.

What right did that… that ape have to know where she was? It wasn't as if he was her…

Something dawned upon him, and he shook his head, refusing to believe it.

Meanwhile, in a different part of the ship, River's lips curled into a smile.

Simon, however, quickly moved on to think about something else. Something that wasn't imagining how Jayne could be admiring the way the light shone in River's hair, or how he could appreciate every movement she made by watching her muscles move beneath her skin, or how soft her eyes looked when concerned, or how her voice could ever reach him on the same level as it did Simon when she was calm. The doctor bit the inside of his lip and stalked out of the infirmary, carelessly knocking over one of the vials he had been trying to set up. He needed to see Kaylee.


	30. Dirty is a State of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Dirty is a State of Mind_ by **jezdenly**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/42239.html)  
>  December 22nd, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Simon's always trying to make River better.  
> Rating: PG-13

Simon steered River quickly into the nearest chair in the galley. He thought they would be alone, since everyone had been conveniently avoiding them since Ariel. The clanking of a spoon and bowl proved Simon wrong, as he turned to see Jayne scooping out the last of dinner. Simon's forced polite smile dropped, realizing now he'd have to make River and himself food. Simon continued walking over to the counter, searching through the cabinets for a protein packet or bar, something edible. He had his back to the table but turned at Jayne's words, surprised to see Jayne standing directly beside River; as if he had started to sit down but stood back up, moving away swiftly.

"You smell something awful," Jayne glared at River in revulsion, "Did something die… on you?"

Simon couldn't help but wonder if Jayne felt like getting stabbed again. River merely stood and walked out of the galley, leaving Jayne to stare at her retreating form and utter, "Girl needs a ruttin' bath."

Simon hurriedly dropped the contents clasped in his hands, and walked out of the room; cheeks burning with embarrassment. If Jayne commented on someone's cleanliness in a negative sense, it had to be truly awful. Simon had tried desperately to ignore River's lacking hygiene, but if Jayne felt the need to comment then something had to be done.

* * *

He found her unexpectedly in the corner of her room, on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chin; arms encircling them. She looked like she had been expecting him, and Simon didn't doubt it.

"Saccharine Simon. Sacred Simon. Sun Simon. Sugar Simon." River reached out for him, smiling without it reaching her eyes. He bent to kiss the top of her head but retreated before his lips touched, his face pinched in disgust.

"Mei-mei, you're forgetting to bathe." He took her hands in his, kissing them; hoping his gentle prodding would be enough.

"Stubborn Simon. Stilted Simon. Stupid Simon. I never forget." She jerked her hands out of his grasp, surprising him with the unbridled anger behind her eyes. Each word was accompanied with a rough poke into his breastbone, the following being even harder than the last, knocking the breath out of him. He blinked harshly every time her bony finger connected with his chest, shocked with her physical aggression towards him. Afterwards he stilled, not breathing for a moment, trying forcibly to ignore her outburst.

"Alright, then would you at least brush you hair?" He stood swiftly, walking to the other side of the room, not missing the curiously in her eyes. He searched through the closet in vain, not giving up until he finally had the brush in his hands. It used to be his mother's antique brush, being passed down through generations as far back as to the earth that was, and he looked at it fondly before returning to River. She didn't look at it with fondness at all, her eyes never leaving the smooth surface of it, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was afraid of it.

"This would have been yours, River. Mother would have given it to you. I know she would have. I wish you'd use it." He sat across from her on the bed, showing her how brushing didn't hurt by running it slowly through his hair, smiling pleasantly throughout the performance. Then he reached out to do the same to hers, but she quickly grasped his wrist with enough force to snap it.

River wrenched the brush out of his hands, and pulled it back as if she was going to hit him; holding it above him. He jerked away, but not fast enough. She brought it down, smacking him across his face with the back of the brush, sprawling him onto her bed with the sudden impact. He left his hands by either side of his face, wanting her to know he wouldn't hurt her, never would. Before he knew it; she was straddling him, her eyes burning into his, putting a fear in him he had never felt; searing his insides with it.

He could feel the warm blood trickling down his chin before she leaned down, her face inches from his and whispered, "Sanguineous Simon," her breath ghosting over his mouth before she licked his chin clean; erasing any proof of what had happened. "You can't make me any better." A sad look ghosted over her face, but disappeared after she said, "Mother would have wanted her to have it. But I'll never be that girl."

And she was off him, her mass of unruly hair a blur as she skipped from the room; humming a tune their mother used to sing. He laid there until his stomach growled, then stood and straightened his clothes. Smoothing the wrinkles out of his vest and then running his fingers through his hair calmed him more than anything else. Simon took a deep breath and left the room; he needed to make them dinner.


	31. Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Truths_ by **Queenie (atrociously)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/39193.html)  
>  November 21st, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Length: Short, about 500 words

River, Simon, Kaylee, Mal, Jayne, Zoe and Inara.

They are all sitting around the table, eating bananas—a rare treat that everybody seems to dislike. River is not really paying attention to the food though. She can feel the emotions bubbling out of Kaylee, like a dam about to break. Distracting. River decides to break it for her. Let her emotions drench them all.

"Kaylee loves you."

Simon doesn't seem too happy when River breaks the dam though. "River!" he tells her, turning red. He's horribly embarrassed. So is Kaylee; she pushes back her chair and hastily makes her way out of the room, muttering something about needing to fix the engines (they are not broken though. River can hear them, humming away just fine. Like humming birds. Or flies).

River can see why her words cause fuss, but she tells herself that she cannot. After all, if Kaylee didn't want her feelings to be known, she shouldn't have felt them in the first place.

Simon's chair scrapes the ground as he leaves the room, chasing after Kaylee. River watches him leave with her head cocked slightly sideways. They are probably going to do their funny dance in the engine room again. The act of sexual reproduction, without the intent of reproduction. An awkward dance. Interesting to watch.

She decides not to follow him (this time). Instead she continues mashing up her banana (really, it's to yellow to be eaten. Yellow like that poison. The one that makes your eyeballs bleed right before it shrivels your lungs up.) and listens to Mal and Inara argue about the next job.

"It'll be easy. A quick in-and-out job."

"You have to make your way past hundreds of Alliance guard ships, navigate through an asteroid maze and sneak into the most heavily protected fortress in the 'Verse!"

"See? Shiny!"

* * *

Later on, when dinner is over and everyone has retreated to their rooms, River decides to bring up Kaylee again. Simon will not be happy about this, she knows. But Simon will forgive her. He forgives her everything, even the hurt.

"Kaylee loves you," she says the words quietly, although no one else is around, apart from Simon. He turns, puts the clothes he was in the middle of folding down, and sighs. "River," he says softly, "that's really none of your—"

She gets off the bed and takes two graceful steps over to him. "Kaylee loves you," she repeats again, and brushes his cheek with one of her hands, effectively silencing him. "And you love me."

Simon closes his eyes, and leans into her touch. "Yes." His voice is sad. Regretful. He loves Kaylee too, but not like this. He will never love anyone else like this. It is a warming thought (for River, at least).

They match better, River thinks as she listens to his heart beating in time with hers. Their blood, their ways—they fit together like a puzzle. A brilliant, intricate puzzle of blood and bones and heart.

"It is okay," she tells him. "I love you too."


	32. A Dancer's Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_A Dancer's Feet_ by **exsequar**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/38026.html)  
>  November 13th, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Word count: 214

She has a dancer's feet.

Elegant, petite, trim, graceful. Precise.

She used to like to write in Chinese with her toes. It amused her. Didn't challenge her, of course, just interested her for a while.

Powerful, deceptively so.

The teenage girl unleashes hell with her tiny feet in combat boots. Faces smashed in, concussions, gun shots, air whooshing from lungs. 

She hates shoes. She likes the freedom of bare feet, the feel of Serenity under the lightly callused toes, caressing the cool metal floors lovingly. Barefoot, she feels closer to the ship, to everyone who loves Serenity, to everyone who calls her home.

Simon watches her explore, so deeply concentrated, and he remembers flowers, giggling, tiny brown feet flashing through the grass. He tackles, she squeals in delight, he tickles those perfect little appendages and she laughs and laughs. Her laugh dances like she does, stealing his breath with its purity, innocence, life.

But now she is silent. There are no flowers, no sun beaming down benignly on the little girl and boy who complete each other. Instead, there is the gritty, dirty reality of a smuggling ship.

And yet. Her toes feel, tentatively, and Simon has hope. He sees a spark in her, a spark of the fire that burns, and he hopes.


	33. Retrograde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Retrograde_ by **lethal_paine**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/37377.html)  
>  November 13th, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be the strangest mix of first person/third person omniscient I've ever written. Mostly, it's coming from River. The portion in italics is most likely from Simon's POV. This is the byproduct of that burst of inspiration that came from watching obsessive24's videos "Cure My Tragedy" and "Fade Out" -only since "Fade Out" plays on Quicktime on my computer I have the ability to play it backward. And it got me thinking about rewinding time… back to childhood… I bet you can guess which direction this is going in. -Finally, the part in italics is from Francesca Lia Block's _Wasteland_ (which is about a heartbreaking brother and sister romance)

Retrograde.  
Don't want to d—

  
Submersion. He had plunged headlong into black. Black and white, a torrent of movement and running. Hiding, screaming, and crying, pain. -Before- Laughter and dancing. It had broken something inside of him that might have been broken long before. But it did not stop it kept rushing around him, consuming him whole. -Would not end- Retreat. -Unable- We are starting at the end and skipping, incoherently staggering. Broken.

There had been hope, there was always hope. Although it was sickly, it never died. _We_ nearly died.  Fire. What was the hope for? A return? A cure? No, something even simpler. —Existence with completion that nothing other than one person in the 'verse could give him. Completion. -Taking a hand back-

Before cure, before hope. The screaming would not end it made ears and hearts bleed. Black was rain dropping and staining, eventually soaking and would later and earlier consume. Tearing apart, things are getting dark and alone. Hide and seek.

God it was agony. Nothingness, a screaming blank. Failure—it died. Convulsions and dry heaving. Unable to see—see anything—see anyone—She was too deep too silent for him to find, although he eventually would.

He was taking a hand back, returning—or at least trying to. It's too early to mention but

From birth, there was attachment. You—

_When you were a baby I sat very still to hold you. I could see the veins through your skin like a map inside of you. How could skin be that thin? I was so afraid you might drop and break. I stopped breathing so you wouldn't._

Nevermind, too early. Backward steps, retracted tears—continue and regression. Rewinding… We're going back first.

There was love, and I loved you and you cared and returned it. She did; she loved.

  
…Something's lifted. 

  
Before separation—

She would dance, while he would study. She would giggle, and he would smirk. Brat, he called her. Something among the lines of "egghead" in Mandarin would be spoken in return.

This is getting too hard—

—couldn't we please stop? I'm confused, it's too confusing… I just want to st—

She would taunt him until he stood, blushing. Playful, she would continue until he was prompted to do something. What it had been had left her breathless and smiling. His admiration for her was too strong to resist, although it was otherwise unspoken. As was for her as well.

  
Even before that… was affection.

Outside, where River loved it best, she would dance and sometimes lounge. Simon would follow, under the pretense that the sunlight was better for reading. Once fatigued enough, she'd pretend to faint on his lap. Feigning irritation, he would cross his arms and make a smart remark. Claiming cerebral death, she'd ignore him.

Some time would pass, until his thoughts wandered into the dark enclave of his mind where thoughts of death and misfortune dwelled. He could imagine his sister laying there in his lap, never to open her eyes and gaze upon him again. To his dismay it struck a cord within him, every time. Fingertips would brush over her cheeks gently, caressing them. Then, to his relief, she'd smile and her beautiful warm brown eyes would open. She'd shift until she rested more comfortably against him with her head on his chest, and he would hold her and run a hand through her hair.

Coming full circle, they had found serenity together. _…Didn't we?_


	34. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Devotion_ by **Jacqui (wily_one24)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/38433.html)  
>  October 6th, 2005 - November 14th, 2005

### 1\. If nothing we do matters, then everything we do is fraught with meaning.

From the moment she began they taught him how to worship her, pointed out to his five year old eyes the perfect little fingers and perfect little toes. His earliest memory and, by extension, his whole life started the day she was born.

They cultivated his devotion early, fed it eagerly. They loved his love. They found it adorable when he cared for her, that when she learned to crawl she crawled to him, that her first word was 'suhmuh,' that when she walked and later ran it was always to him. They're so close, they bragged to all their friends.

She was the first thing he didn't have to solve, everything was already complete with her, yet she was the only thing that defied explanation year after year. He spent days preparing stories and games to make her laugh, did anything to create that warm smile and the glow in her eyes that was only ever for him. When he won awards, when he succeeded in anything, it was only ever to compete with her.

They laughed when he declared, at eight years old, that he would marry her. They stopped laughing by the time he was ten. By the time he was twelve he'd stopped saying it altogether, even to himself. It didn't mean anything if he didn't acknowledge it.

It didn't mean anything that his dreams would sometimes be full of pale, faceless nymphs that would dance away from him and sometimes dance towards him, but the best dreams were the ones when he'd catch up to her and his hands would touch pale, ivory skin. Didn't mean anything that these were the dreams he'd wake from, sweaty and sticky, with a half moan forming in the back of his throat. Or the times that he'd wake early and he'd only be able to complete the moans, to stop the ache deep low in his belly, by giving her a face that was too familiar.

No meaning in the way he'd stop breathing just to watch her, none at all when he'd leave his study groups early just to spend time with her, sacrificing hours of sleep just to catch up with his work in the dark. It certainly meant nothing that his skin grew warm and shivery all at the same time when she'd seek him out and taunt him until he gave away any pretense of not wanting to play.

His fear meant nothing, the fear that it would never stop and the terror that it would. Knowing that something had to happen, something had to change, because he couldn't not acknowledge it forever, not when she seemed so focused in chasing it to the surface.

There was no meaning to the little smile she gave when he bought the picture home from school one weekend and she pointed out the girl in the second row, rounded face and perfectly shaped blonde hair, a girl she'd never seen before.

"That's who you're bringing to the party. That's who you're going to introduce to mother and father."

There couldn't be anything to the way her finger slid over the image to the girl in the front row, second from the right, tiny and elfin, all slender limbs and long brown hair.

"But that's who you really like." Couldn't be anything to the smile she gave, all satisfied and smug and sad at the same time. "She looks like me a little."

He knew it meant nothing when his fingers shook as she handed it back and walked away from him, nothing that she was right and that she knew she was right, that she didn't even need to look back at him to know it.

Not even worth noticing that when he chased her, grabbing hold of her and pulling her down to the ground so that he could tickle her senseless and make her laugh that breathless, helpless laugh, that their bodies knew each other too well. He chose not to notice that she ran slower than he knew she was able.

It wasn't worth mentioning when her desperate giggling pleas of 'no, Simon, please!' turned to a softer 'Simon, please,' or that they'd both stopped laughing and just lay together inches apart, breathing hard.

It didn't mean a thing that he couldn't meet his father's eyes when he wanted to talk, that he kept saying he didn't know what the problem was, even though he did have a pretty good idea. Not a thing that his mother's voice could be heard through the walls, slightly hysteric, saying the word 'appropriate' over and over again and that, later, River's eyes were rimmed in red.

It was just happenstance that to keep the peace they had to stop playing so much during the day and keep it all secret, a coincidence that the only secrets able to be kept were at night when everyone else was asleep. Chance and nothing else that they stayed away from prying eyes by meeting in his room.

None of it meant anything when his parents declared they were sending River away, that she yelled and threw things, but eventually said she wanted to go. It couldn't mean anything when those words sliced into his chest and made him stop breathing again.

What importance could be gleaned from the fact that any girl he even remotely looked at held a passing resemblance to her. That drunk with his friends one night in a bar, they'd banded together to buy him his very first woman for his twentieth birthday and the whore he chose was of small build, with large brown eyes and fragile thin bones. Nothing unusual about the fact that he came, shuddering and spent, murmuring the words 'mei-mei.'

He told himself that the mistakes in her letters didn't mean anything, that she was better off without him, that his parents had been right. He told himself that he was imagining the code that began to infiltrate his mind when he read them, that he was trying to see things that weren't really there.

It couldn't mean anything, he finally admitted, because nothing he did meant anything anymore unless he could help her.

 

### 2\. When Everything Comes Easily, Only Challenge Is A Challenge.

She tired easily, lost patience easily. It started with the word precious. She couldn't remember exactly when she tired of it, just that she couldn't think of a time when she actually liked the word. That's what people said about her, called her precious all the time.

"Oh!" Their voices swarmed over her, sickly sweet. "Isn't she precious?"

When she was three she looked it up and followed the link from precious to valued to beloved to much loved to sweetheart. It wasn't a link she carried from the people who spoke it to and about her.

Her parents' friends had different links, from precious to special to novelty to oddity to something feared. She felt it in their adoring gazes, knew the path it would take. Like her parents. They feared what they did not know.

Only Simon thought of her as the true link of precious and only he never used it. She wanted him to and it became a game. She tired easily of working for the esteem of anyone else. She spent her efforts for the merest of his glances.

Not that they were mere, because she could always coax that admiration out of him, that slow building fire that would shine in his eyes, the look that told her what 'valued' really meant.

She knew that Simon played by all the rules, he did what everybody told him to do, because it was expected of him, because it was proper. It really did amaze her that she was the only one who could see that what he really preferred was to break the rules in the worst possible way.

It was only logical that she helped him.

She looked at the two of them like creating the steps to a secret dance. Her instructor would show her how to point her toes, stretch her neck out just so, to put in the maximum amount of effort and still make it seem effortless and unconscious, the most natural and beautiful thing in the Universe. The same principles applied to Simon.

It wasn't just skill, the instructor's voice drilled into them, but compatibility that made good partners. You cannot force people together that don't belong that way. That had never been a problem, she knew, between them. They had always complimented each other, thought together, moved in synch. River had never existed without him, even in the pulse of the placenta, he'd told her once, he'd been waiting for her. Her heart would grow rapid and tremble at the thought of him leaving.

They even breathed in time, she knew this because she had sat one day in the study and stayed silent as he poured over his books. She'd lain still on the couch, her eyes watching birdlike every movement of his back as it rose with his breath, to the point where she could imagine the silvery trace of air as it flowed into his lungs, swapped gases at the alveoli and tingled through to the edges of his nerves against the inside of his skin.

She'd made herself dizzy with the deliberate pull of oxygen that she'd sucked in to match him and fell over when she'd finally tried to stand. He had laughed at her, then, placing warm hands over her cheeks and looking into her eyes and called her 'mei-mei.'

Good dance partners, it was said in one lesson, will not need to tell you where they're going to step next, they'll just lead you there and you'll follow as if you'd already known. A twitch of the wrist, you'll come to learn, will mean a turn to the left, a slight setting of the shoulders will mean a lift, the tightening of fingers around a waist will mean you'll start to fly, weightless and free.

She saw them move in steps, she stepped towards him until he stepped back, she waited, then stepped towards him again. Slowly and surely. Eventually his steps took him forward and they both moved back and forth, together, back and forth.

It was all she had ever known, moving with and because of him.

The problem with secret dances that became like a second nature and dictated the rules of movement was that they tended not to stay secret. Her mother's voice beginning sickly sweet like always, tried to gently sway River into doing what was expected of her, slowly growing higher and higher in pitch, more frantic in their meaning. River could still feel the sting of her mother's hand connecting with the side of her face, sharp and final.

She supposed she shouldn't have accused her own mother of being jealous.

There was something desperate in those last few months, River had known it, felt it deeper than she'd felt before. Somewhere deep down, she thought they both must know it, that something was going to happen. Something that made them laugh a little closer, that made their hands linger longer than they had before, that made them seek each other out.

When it happened, River wasn't surprised, had been expecting her mother's teary demands and heated, passionate accusations. She had been expecting the arguments. They had given her everything and she had never once asked them for anything, when she did they refused.

What she hadn't been expecting was her father. It was almost logical, when she thought about it, that what had started with her own reasoning ended with her father's quiet, reasoned and unarguable logic.

River was Simon's only weakness. He was poised at the precipice of a great and awe-inspiring career. The only thing standing in his way, was River. And she would tear him down. Strip by painful strip. And Simon would let her.

"I want to go," she'd told him and ignored the shocked look on his face.

"But, River?" And she saw it in his eyes, the betrayal and confusion and the knowledge that this was somehow not right. "What you said last night…?"

"Simon?" she pleaded in a whisper. "Please, don't… I… I want to go."

And she'd left him without looking back.

With the very first shock of pain through her skull, her voice sounding strange and distant as it cried out, her hands straining at the tethers that bound her, she cursed the memory of soft hands and warm brown eyes that taunted her.

Eventually, when she could no longer string a coherent sentence together, River would close her eyes and thank a million different deities she didn't believe in that they had never been able to take him from her. That no matter how much of her they stripped and sliced and tore away, they could never reach the memory of soft hands and warm brown eyes that kept her alive.

 

### 3\. Sister, I Need Wine.

He'd had no idea it was missing until she tumbled out of the box, dry ice streaming like mist around her, he'd spent so long being other words. Son. Student. Intern. Doctor. Surgeon. He'd forgotten the beauty of the word brother.

Fragile and scattered, she trembled like a twig, heart bird beat rapid and harsh rasping as she struggled to breathe. It was nothing to the struggle in her eyes, the cracked fear in them, the desperation that threatened to swallow him whole. He'd had no choice but to reach out, to coo soundlessness into her, to feel for himself that she was real again.

He'd forgotten that other, holiest of words that took his breath away and he could give no other answer.

"What the hell is this?"

"This is my sister."

She was River, behind all the terror, the broken shattered pieces of her. He knew she was there, he saw it in the brightness of her eyes sometimes, the curve of her lips when she was amused, the way she breathed his name. He felt it, sometimes, in the way she laid a hand on his cheek and smiled like she was drawing from him everything he felt for her.

It was necessary to build a wall, that cold, clinical wall that allowed him to be purely a doctor, to treat her as she needed, that allowed him to monitor and assess all the damage without breaking down himself. And with her came the daily, hourly, never-ending need to help her, to break through the trauma. With that need, came his daily, hourly, never-ending failure to do so.

There was nothing else he could do, the daily tasks of everyday living stuck in his throat when the thought came to him, the knowledge that he'd done it, that he'd forced her away and towards the people that had done this to her. Even when she clung to him, forced his arms around her when she was shaking, he could never believe her words.

"Not your fault, Simon. Choice doesn't always hold the onus of the outcome."

When she had the nightmares, the uncontrolled fits of screaming, he told himself it was easier to put the smoothers away, to calm her with just himself, holding her nearly as tightly as she held him. He almost relished the half-moon marks of her nails in his skin.

It all came rushing back to him, the fear of it, the feel of falling headfirst over a cliff, an unending plummet. It wouldn't stop if left alone, he knew it, knew it as if it had been a course set by his professors at college. To pull himself out of it, he had to reach out and grasp the nearest solid thing.

Nobody's fault, he told himself, it couldn't be. Nobody's fault that the nearest thing was full roundness and bright sunny smiles, pleasure in the smallest things, the second last person he ever wanted to hurt.

He pushed it all back, he had to, because he was never sure if she knew what she was doing, if she understood the meaning behind the way his voice trembled when she got too close.

That's why it stunned him so harshly.

Skirt full of hodgeberries, evoking in him a lost afternoon of sun-warmed skin, laughter, the two of them away from a world of onlookers. Just them, them and tall, shoulder height grass, bushes that pricked their fingers if they weren't careful enough, the taste of berries turning sour in their mouths the longer they stayed away from those that watched them too carefully. Sour sweet like wine.

"I get confused. I remember everything, I remember too much… and some of it's made up, and some of it can't be quantified and… there's secrets."

The dreams came back, waking him in spasms of fire, guilt and need, burning in him when all he wanted was them to be gone. And one night, when the cycle of air woke him in the middle, straining and full of the familiar ache, he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the groan that came, muffled and cut short as he backed up against the corner and pressed his head into the wall, trying to think of something, anything else.

It was another sound that pushed him over the edge, the soft familiar cry from her bunk. A nightmare, he assumed, the beginnings of another bad night. He had to check on her, couldn't not, not even if he was still flushed and dazed. He found her sitting up in the bed, limp, with her back pressed against into the corner of the walls. In the same position he'd found himself in moments before. Her pupils blown and breath shallow.

When her eyes looked up to meet his, he couldn't breathe.

 

### 4\. Brother, Heal Me.

It hit her like a starburst, loud and bright and violent all at once, tearing away her skin, flecks of epidermis spattering the air. People crowded inside her, questions forming like arrows, sharp and pointed, not familiar, not known to her. The scream was her own and not hers as she crawled out of it, the artificial womb.

And then she felt him.

His voice and hands evening out the spikes of her, shushing her, calling to her, she closed her eyes and fought it, it couldn't be him, couldn't be, it had never been him in the million dreams before.

But she felt him and he was brother awe and childhood glee and memories of safety and blue eyes of recognition and a price paid deep for her. She saw the bruises of his skin and the bruises of his brain and then she wept for him, wound her fingers in the skins of his shirt and pulled him close.

Shook and trembled into the smell of him. Soft spicy clove and blood from a girl.

She was gone, taken from the place of pain, but there were needles and there was poking with the needles and the tests and pills and the times when it worked and the times when it didn't. She saw the air ripple around them, flowing like water from a river not her. It always pooled stagnant around her.

Always he forced away the worst of it, his hands warm and a shield from the thoughts. It was a spark when he touched her, a spark to ignite and drive away what she couldn't.

It felt like the very scream of her blood would burst from her, rip her down the middle and spread like a taint through the air, choke and stifle the people around her.

He gave her the imagery, the idea, the plan. His brain wanted to open himself and take it all from her so she could heal and she couldn't help but follow the logic, wanted to split herself open and let him inside, merge them both so that she would be quiet and peace and not broken and he would be whole again.

She never wanted to split him more than he already was, every time she looked into his eyes, let the pads of her fingers kiss his skin, hot and salty to touch, she saw it, felt the many of him. Simon, her brother, her doctor, her would-be lover, her symbiosis twin, Kaylee's beau, the stretch to be all and the weakness of never choosing.

No choices to be had, but to let him walk, the path only he could, it wasn't built and only he had the bricks. That's what she told herself, huddled in the dark and trying not to whimper, trying not to call out with the terror, because he couldn't say no and she wouldn't know how to and eventually they, neither of them, would want to anymore.

It threaded into her, like honey through mist, soft and sweet, tempting, calling her name, and she could do nothing but follow. Music, lilting and floating on a happiness she couldn't remember. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, picked up the steps with ease and her body remembered how to dance, fell into the steps with a practiced grace.

Her brain had no logic but to remember another dance, another step forward and backwards, and she found the berries in the deepest part of her, an afternoon of selfish abandon, of taste and the quick burst of sugar between teeth, the pang of a prickle in her thumb, blood welling like oil that shone, and the warm need of his mouth as he sucked it.

"Mei-mei, everything I have is right here."

She chose his path and he followed willingly.

"I'll get better." A desperate plea, a promise, a hope to him because he needed it. "I'll get better."

He was stronger at night than the others, they were flashes of random, a gun, a cross, a sheaf of silk, a hand raised high in anger, voices loud, a boy in the dust, the throb of metal, heat of bodies, a cruel laugh, a sigh, the scratch of a pencil on paper, it all meant nothing.

But he, he was everywhere she didn't go, his head was loud in his dreams, woke her up with them, left her wide-eyed and panting, gasping at the empty room. His thoughts were a slow burn to her, smolder and sizzle, a fist reaching in to grasp her insides and twist, squeeze until she cried out into the pillow.

And nightly she felt it, the build of it, slow and surely, the grind of his thoughts. The fulfillment of the plan. It was going to split her in two, a crescendo of color and noise and darkness that swirled and threatened to rise, she felt it twist and turn inside her, knew that he was moments from ripping it out of her, from molding it to a small, tight little ball that could be tossed away.

She threw herself up, crawled back against the wall and twisted with it, breathed for it, didn't trust herself not to cry out loud with the release of it.

Passion and heat and tightness and air and sparks and light and dark and chills and all the calcium in her bones leached out and left her limp and loose like rubber and oxygen pumped so fast in her that it left her dizzy.

And he was there, his eyes wide and his breath stolen. Feet ready to run.

"River?" A breath, barely there, a denial.

"Simon?" Her own breath sounded like a call to somewhere far off, a place long gone, a time no more. "Please."

 

### 5\. The Plea of Please.

He closed his eyes, he had to close them, even as he walked to her and cupped her cheek, a lost and lonely touch. Her eyes, they drowned him, called him and held him there and his mouth formed a shape which might have been her name or a cry for them both.

She turned her head into him, kissed the palm of his hand with heated lips and branded the skin there, burned it to the innermost dermal layer until he hissed and fell to his knees.

He expected there to be an avalanche, the heavy crumbling of their carefully constructed world, but there was nothing. Nobody had noticed the nuclear shift in them, in him.

When they ate as a group and River laughed, nobody looked twice at the way he couldn't stop staring at her. When he was talking to someone and stopped mid-sentence because he could feel her eyes on him and just had to turn to meet her gaze, nobody blinked.

Everything and nothing had changed.

There were nightmares, still, that left her shaken and trembling, weeping as he held her and rocked her back to sleep. There were days when she yelled and threw things and swore at him, when he'd finally catch her and hold her arms in close to her body as she struggled against him, his breath cooing into her ear until she grew lifeless and still in his arms.

And then there were times when he called her mei-mei, whispered worship in her neck, his hands smoothing the tangle of her hair away from her face, wanting and needing and breaking his own heart as he did it. Because she'd said please. And he couldn't say no.

She'd hold his face inches from her own and mouth his name in breathless little gasps as she arched under his hands. Eyes always open and drawing him in, mouth parting in succulent homage until he couldn't look anymore, until he had to cover it with his own, kiss her deep and desperate, leave her lips swollen and bruised.

Oh, and that was the way he loved her best, when she'd lie there as he knelt by her bed, planting his lips over skin that seemed to shine in the half-light of her quarters, her voice a keen in her throat, a keen for him. He traced the lines of her veins, the purple blue of her blood as he'd learned them in text, the map of her pulse that jumped against his teeth.

When her hands reached out, he let them sit in the curves of his shoulders, against the scratch of his razor needy chin, in the grooves of his hips, but never past there, never where she wanted.

He couldn't. Just couldn't look in the mirror if he did. Couldn't smile during the day and accept their good humor, the glow of bright brown eyes and a freckled smile. Couldn't meet River's eyes if he lost that last piece of himself with the last of his control.

There was a distinction made, her face set stubborn as she pushed and pulled the eddy of his desires, between the nights she held him tightly, seemingly unable to let him go, and the days she thrust him gladly at the woman that wasn't her. Back and forth, he bounced between the poles of them, the only casualties his.

"River, I can't…" and every time "…have to stop…" he thought to speak, "…can't continue…" summoned up enough energy "…it's not…" to speak his words out loud "…appropriate…" she always knew the word that ran deeper.

"Please?"

 

### 6\. Tug Of War.

She could push him over the edge, tap, tap, tap him with a well-placed finger in the middle of his chest, a light pressure in the right place, echoing the beat already there, the lure of his thump. She knew she could do it, she knew she wouldn't, shouldn't, didn't want to.

He tasted like a home she'd never been to, soft and sturdy, salt slick on her tongue as it ran over his hand, tasted like guilt and soap and passion and the only love she'd ever wanted to know.

It was a peace oozing over her, into her, through her, the loudest silence in her head. He shut out the rest of it, the harshness of it, the violence that shook her.

There was a tide in him, threatening to overflow, stretching and undulating, rippling in heaves and boiling like oil. Lunar cycles from an inner moon, tore him in two, split him in ways she couldn't mend.

"She likes you," she told Simon, not looking to see the confusion and denial that danced in his eyes and into her head, but concentrating, concentrating hard because he needed to believe she knew what she was saying. "And you like her."

And then.

"He likes you," she told Kaylee, this time drinking in the hope she saw. "Be patient."

She hadn't lied, to either of them.

His brain thought of it as new, a state of being created to exist, but it was old to her, this game of cat and mouse, of playing convention. Of smiling just enough, but never too much. Difference makes a difference, she knew, and it wasn't lying like then, for Simon to smile at Kaylee. It wasn't acting a part for him to run a hand down the woman's bare arm and watch her smile.

He didn't know that she felt it, too, a shiver from two sides, his and hers, electric spark and she the uninvited third. He would if he thought about it, but he didn't, too mired in the back and forth, the many lives he tried not to lead, the craving mixed with blood.

It wasn't lying, she was a River flowing, and water bended to fit the mold, took shape from the world around it, stayed constant and fluid and clear and bright, but ever changing and sinuous. Eventually, water bended the world, slowly shaped the stone that had shaped it for years, created the valleys and grooves that made it smile.

Eventually.

She rippled when he bended her, ran his hands over her neck, trembling heat and quiet sighs, as he pushed her. Took the turbulence of her and sucked it through her skin, out of her pores, leaving her body with tiny beads of sweat as she gave him the whimpers that flushed his cheeks.

Simon wanted her to push him.

And always, always the tightening, the flood of thoughts that slowed, were banished from her by the onrush of sensation. The irresistible, the addicting, the all too tempting nothingness that meant she was just River. Only a River and no one else. Until she was swollen with herself, no room for others, hearing a pulse that could mean nothing but her own heart beating fast.

Simon wanted River to make the decision for them both.

And always, always he pulled back. Took her to a baseness that had nothing to do with genius or psychic or skill or niceties, but everything to do with want and need and desire and love and now and more and heavens splitting open. Took her and left himself behind.

Simon wanted River to force his hand, to make him do it for her.

And always, always he left aching, kissed the sheen of her forehead and poured love into her brow. Left her exhausted, planted deep within herself and unable to follow him, unable to weep the tears he barely knew were under his lachrymal glands, burning him to escape and burst into the world.

River wanted Simon to do it for Simon.

 

### 7\. Acquiescence.

It was like his dream made flesh, sylph-like, tiny bones and strong ankles as she moved for him. Stood in her room at night, and once or twice in the middle of the day with her eyes sparking bright, as she slipped out of her dress and enjoyed the freedom of her nakedness.

And he watched and he smiled and he listened hard for footsteps that never came when she was unprepared. Watched until he caught her, slender wrist wholly circled by his hand, and led her to the bed, pressed her soft and malleable limbs into the mattress and rolled the blanket up high.

Until her eyes would look deep into his, her mouth parting softly and she gave a sigh, that soft expulsion of air that made him want to breathe it in, the sigh that made him roll the blanket down again.

He'd leave her in her bed, but wake in the morning with her head and shoulders curled up into his chest, arms splayed out over his body and hands holding him tight, every inch of her pressed up into him and the warmth making him lazy.

No matter how hard he tried not to listen, he couldn't not hear the voices from his past, his mother and his father, several snide comments from children in his class, the ingrained knowledge and suspicion of the hired help, all the words they'd said, all the times he'd known they held a grain of truth.

Yet none of them, not one, had understood the need of it, the beauty of it, the absolute naturalness of it, he doubted any one of them had ever felt such overwhelming passion for another.

And still he stood there and watched her, sat there and whispered to her, knelt by her and drove her to the frenzy that gave her a peace he couldn't deny. He couldn't help but tell himself it was for her, only for her, because she wanted it, because she needed it. She asked and he could do nothing but give.

It was like she could read his mind.

Her brown eyes broken and injured as she sat up, legs drawn to her chest, arms crossed and refused to move for him. His days were laced with harshness, a panic bordered with loss and despair, the groundlessness as she talked and smiled and laughed, but never at night, never with him.

A week passed, a week of feverish worry and blade edge balancing, of not being able to eat as he stared across the table at her laughing with those that weren't him. Even when they all feared for their lives, she drifted alone and apart from him, he found himself seeking solace in conversation with Inara, as distant as he could find. Even going to Kaylee then had seemed a form of insult, another betrayal to them he couldn't quite fathom. They lived.

Then he caved, knocked on her door and looked her straight in the eye.

"Please?" he asked her, said the words out loud, because even if she hadn't known she needed to understand. "I want to, for me."

She melted like chocolate clutched in a warm, sticky hand. Moaned like the tongue that licked the fingers clean. Her need, the low keen that he'd missed, shot straight through him, created the ache he knew so well. He wanted more, needed it, and suddenly couldn't stop himself from taking it.

He sank into her, around her, through her, gave into the hands that clutched him so tightly he knew there'd be bruises, closed his eyes and found her anyway. She was everywhere and everything and he was a fool and she was going to make him pay for it and he knew he deserved it and was willing to take the penance.

As long as they didn't stop the rhythmic give and take and push and slide and grind and shudder and clench and a moan rumbling low in a husked out voice, breath panting heavy in an ear, gooseflesh rising, heat pouring through them both.

And voices that kept the mantra of their names repeating over and over again.

He thought, he assumed, he prayed that she would be better for it, that the haze that calmed her better than any of the drugs he could so far find would last longer than the hours just after. He'd tricked himself into believing it was the better thing.

It almost worked.

And then his heart clenched, spiked and painful in his chest.

"He looks better in red."

 

### 8\. So Close and Yet So Far.

When she slid out of the unwanted skin of her clothes, leaving herself free and agile, it was he who shivered, goosebumps rising and brainwaves falling. She liked the way he didn't think when he watched her, liked the way he liked it.

Even when he didn't, the others did and she couldn't stop the wave of them and she wished she could stop it, wished she could shut her mind the way she shut her eyes, closed like a door on the fingers of their thoughts. Reaching, always reaching, even when they didn't know it.

Wanted him to push it all up and tight and out, stitch the weaves of him around the holes in her, stop the leaks in and the oozing out. The drawing in of her, the closing up tight, the steady rise of her breath with the beat that echoed in the back of her skull, the rapid pulse of her blood, the whoosh of her desire. And only hers, because she was only one during and after.

If only she could tell him so he knew.

The words always failed her, ran away, tumbled and stumbled, falling out of her mouth like pieces of glass from a splintered vase. The purpose of them long gone and useless to any cause.

Slowly, one by one, the fingers crept back in, the nightmares that weren't her own, and especially the nightmares that were. The ones that made her shiver at the sound of a voice she wanted to forget, at the feel of steel, wrist bound and brain open, and eyes that bored deeper than any instrument. The ones that stole her breath and the ability to scream out loud, the ones that crept under skin and tattooed themselves to the nerves, red and raw, underneath.

Every time she clutched at the wall, at the sheets, at her own hair, strands coming loose and dead in her fingers, and every time it didn't help, never helped, lonely in a crowd of memories, sharp and aimed well. So she crept into his room and calmed herself to the sound of oxygen in and carbon dioxide out.

The sound she could match, had matched, wanted to match again, would never tire of. And if she reached out and touched the barrel of his chest, the spark would stir and drive some of them away, if she splayed her fingers over the expanse of skin, the spark would ignite and burn it away.

And if she crawled up his body, curled into the shell of it, drawing the octopus of his arms around her, buried herself in the hollows of him, then peace would come again, and she could count his breathing with her spine, the feel of him rising and falling against her, until it drew her under and she didn't know anymore.

He was bound, she felt it. Bound by structures that had fallen long ago, like the bridge of a rhyme that echoed in her head sometimes. The structures were fallen and fallacy, made up and torn down, but he couldn't see through them. They inched into him.

Appropriate, they'd told him and he fought the memory of them, she knew he fought it, but he was losing. She felt the danger of tripping and being lost in the ravine of his mind, two sided and nothing to solder it together.

If she could block it out, she knew she would, if he knew what it did, she knew it wouldn't even be there. But it was. The stubbornness of him, the lying to himself over and over, the insistence that it wasn't his choice, not really, and the truth that secreted itself underneath, bitter and festering, the want he denied.

River hated hypocrisy.

So she froze herself, took the tears and the screams in her head and the pain that scratched at her throat after when she woke up whimpering, faces of concern crowded around her and the memory of metal sliding out of the crook of her arm.

She could feel him watching her, wavering, crumbling under the loss of them.

It was Serenity that crumbled first, splitting a seam open and letting blackness in. Fear screamed inside her, the pain of a husband in worry, terror of men who loved to breathe, of Kaylee who clutched at metal she hadn't caught in time, angry at Mal for not listening, angry at herself for not doing more, of a woman who felt the last chance to grasp what she wanted slipping out of her hands.

Most of all, she stayed away from Simon, didn't want to feel the regret, the litany of lost memories, of a longing to be back where he wouldn't be in this danger. He had to feel it, had to miss the safety of that she'd torn from him. And she couldn't meet it head on and not shatter.

"You're afraid that we're going to run out of air. That we'll die gasping." Fear in others had to be better than guilt in herself. "But we won't. That's not going to happen. We'll freeze to death first."

And Zoe's anger when she woke, the utter frustration of people who would desert a man. We don't leave men behind. It ran in her head all the way back and River already keening at the slow melting of Mal, the loss of him, knowing it was nearly too late.

She knew he'd come back that night, knew he'd stand there and wait for her to look up. His eyes were pools of anger and fear and loss and a brightness that came from learning something deep that you never wanted to.

"Please?" His words floated over to her, cradled her with an honesty and need he'd never asked with before. "I want to, for me."

Of course, he'd never had to ask from her. Only admit. And he moaned when she stood up and closed the door behind him, sighed as she leaned in and tasted the salt on his neck. Her fingers held his wrist and brought it up to feel the rapid beating of her heart and he trembled with her.

She led him and he followed and she gave as much as he did and took more. His skin was a map to her, a graph of them, rising and falling, undulating in the curves of him. Smooth and soft and malleable, she could push a finger into it, make the flesh bleed white until the color flushed back in when she released it.

And she was he and he was her and River felt it hit harder and faster than any of the nights before. Wrapped around him, covering him, taking him in and pouring herself back.

He was open and a blaze to her, fiery hot and cool cold balm. Sliding into her blood as if he'd always been there and he had, she knew it, had always known, had always felt him.

After, she was a haze of floating, following, meek like a pet, stepping after him as if they were chained. And he tried not to focus on her, tried not to turn and run a hand down her cheek, gave her love in the form of food, tended her in the only way he could when they were there. As if she could swallow the conglomerated bowl in lieu.

"I don't want any."

But she took it and sat and tried not to hear the room, the tiny threads of everyone that inched their tendrils into her and suddenly she couldn't hear any of it and she wished she could. Wanted them all back like never before, because it was worse, the knowledge of blue.

They were the ones that take you, she'd tried to tell them before, but they hadn't listened. And they were back, blue and septic, flashing in her eyes, taunting and promising pain and needles and questions and the feel of never knowing again. If they got her she'd be lost and not even Simon could save her then.

She had to stop it, had to stop them getting her again. They were loud and there and weren't going away and it was a buzz in her head, clawing at her like bees, like a million rabid dogs barking and snarling and they all smelled like blood, sounded like the sling of a blade, metal through flesh.

And suddenly the room was back and it was Jayne and nothing left but a shirt in rags.

"He looks better in red."

 

### 9\. Guilt Slick.

He can't forget it and he can't forgive himself for his part in it. It doesn't matter that he gave up his entire life for her, something that seems almost unreal now, a life lived by someone else that he might have read about once, a whole dream away from where he is now. It doesn't even matter that he tries every day, tries so damned hard that even his eyelids ache sometimes, to help her, to find some answer, any small little key to unlock the tiniest part of her mind.

Simon has seen River scared, he's seen her screaming, shaking, yelling, throwing objects, laughing, spouting incomprehensible gibberish, speaking with more clarity than anyone else in the room, crying, he's seen almost all of it.

But he's never seen her broken before, never seen her give up and he blames himself for it, can't get the images out of his head.

River, lying frozen in the diagnostic bed, unable to move, terror in the eyes that stared through him, past him, to something he's increasingly sure he doesn't ever want to see. Each of her whimpers tearing strips of flesh from him, nail marks down the chalkboard of his heart as he'd done the only thing he'd known how to do. Soothed her with his hands, with his voice in her ear as she clung to him.

That, even that, he can accept, because even when she'd said she didn't want to do it, she'd still let him talk her into it, lied down and let him slide the needle into her arm, sat in the chair and let him wheel her into the room and lie her down on the med bed. She'd lain still for the scans.

It was after that, he knew the exact moment that ate at him, the moment she'd deliberately stopped the chair and struggled to stay coherent enough to beg him, saying she didn't want to go back, couldn't go back.

Simon had looked his sister in the eyes and had ignored her most coherent moment to date, dismissed the fear that ruled her out of hand and he'd led her into the hands of the feds, into the people who had made her like this in the first place.

And that was what ran around and around in his head, again and again, so very loud.

Looking back, it hurt him to remember her so docile, so obedient, as if she hadn't any hope left. She had sat down before they'd asked, stood before they wanted and walked quietly. Where Jayne had fought them and he had been all bravado and bluster, River had just drifted through the motions.

As if she'd done it all before.

"It's too late. They're already here."

Her face, all stretched out in silent horror haunted him, because he didn't know then and still couldn't decipher whether it was fear for what was to come, or the memory of pain already felt. The very thought made him numb.

And every time he closed his eyes he could see that face, scared, frozen, terrified, betrayed, could hear her begging, could see the scans that showed the repeated intrusions into her brain and all he could do was imagine the horrors that had done that to her. Could only imagine the horrors that awaited her if she ever truly reached in and sorted out the web of her memory.

It would be easier, probably kinder for her, to just leave things be, to stop the meds and keep her from accessing the totality of it. Or even, and he hated himself more when his brain thought of it, make a mistake, just a few units too much of one of the meds, no one would blame him and she wouldn't be in pain anymore.

Easy.

Almost tempting, until she looked up at him, large brown eyes as trusting as they'd been when she was ten.

"What are you doing?" A pointed question as she'd looked at the syringe, as if she knew. "Is it time to sleep again?"

"No, mei-mei." Never, not ever, not even a choice. "It's time to wake up."

And, god, oh how he'd sat and stared at her, hours after, when the clarity seeped into her eyes and she'd smiled in a way he hadn't seen for too long. It hit him how close they'd come, how close they always were to losing each other.

Their desperation that night had nothing and everything to do with fear and loss and a slightly stale thread from their childhood of being held too far apart, the threat dangling above their heads, held tight by an impossibly thin chord, the threat of separation.

Nothing and everything to do with finding each other, in confirming what they both knew, hungry and sated, the sum far outweighing the parts. He let his hands say the words his mouth couldn't, ran them over her again and again until she couldn't beg anymore. Couldn't say his name over and over, voice holding warmth and sun and absolution.

 

### 10\. Flickers.

There were terrors that came after her, reached out and laughed sickly over her skin as she shrank from them. The directions pulled at her like a straw man, parts of her falling out like forgotten stuffing.

Ignited with less than a flicker of blue.

She did as she always did when she couldn't decide, closed her eyes, breathed in and followed wherever Simon wanted to lead. He didn't know what he asked, she knew that if he did he never would, didn't know that even to think about cold, white walls sent icicles of pain, growing like stalactites into the currents of her blood.

His words were just words to him, but they were nails to her, exploding through skin and blasting shatters of her bone, splintered and torn. If only he could see the debris of them, scratching at her when he assured her she wouldn't feel it, wouldn't know more than going to sleep. She knew, she always knew, she'd know it like she knew the dark and silence and nothingness of the box he'd found her in, a death that wasn't.

It licked her like flames in the dark, memories that were and weren't and shouldn't be seen, tongue slicing hot up the skin of her calves into the nerves of her flesh.

Simon was so proud of his plan and she couldn't tell him otherwise, couldn't pierce the bubble of his doing good, his belief that he needed to help. She'd scared him, she'd scared them all and maybe, even, she'd scared herself, but she'd scared Jayne the most, all sharp and bite where he'd only seen weakness before. A threat to him and his and she wasn't that and never could be if she never made sense, because he liked everything to make sense.

River didn't even make sense to herself sometimes.

Then it started, the flashes of Jayne, all hunger and greed and expectation oozing on his tongue like a candy cane left forgotten. Not even a shiny copper could stray him from his path. He had his eyes on the prize and that was credits and acclaim, safety for those left behind. Poor little boy lost, all blue without his gifts, didn't get the shiny baubles, only bruises like coal on his head.

They used him, not surprising, they used everyone, they planned to use her up and leave her lying shriveled and wasted, use and use and take and steal and never give. It takes lonely people to change the Universe. Even lonelier people to steal from a little girl.

Stolen screams and blood pumping in her ears and nowhere left to turn and it coiled in her like a python, a tiger, a feline reptilian animal waiting to strike. Snap, snap, snapping at her from the inside. Nowhere left to run, but she ran anyway, feet slapping at tiles that knew nothing of where they lead her.

And all throughout there was Simon and his head, words flowing through him and into her, memories she thought he'd lost and wishes she knew she had, a tumble of panic and sorrow and anger and adrenaline.

She didn't blame him, couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. He was hers and always had been and everything inside him was hers and all the blame he had might as well have been hers, but he was lousy with it, tainted with his own sense of it.

There was, of course there was, a yearning for peace, for an easier way, it lay hidden in his care for her, the careful way he touched her, a shaky fear that she might break one day. Inevitable that it would turn to a wish, the deep and silent praying for her to fall over the edge and into oblivion. Hadn't happened yet, but he wasn't far from it, she could taste it in him.

Something had to change and River knew exactly what it was.

"No, mei-mei." His whole self soothed out in one sentence and she curled into him. "It's time to wake up."

The liquids inched into her and she felt them slowly mutate into the cells of her, brain swimming, linear, smooth strokes clean and straight. She could have cried with the relief of it, the sudden clearing of a world gone dim.

He cried her name out and she drank it in, looked into his eyes and tried to let them tell him what he needed to know as his hips lifted her, strong and steady, rhythmic. Her own voice a balm to the oozing of his fear laden guilt.

 

### 11\. Eden's Tale.

He became a collector, an avid, greedy hoarder of her lucid moments, squirreling them away in corners of his mind that couldn't be reached, could never be breached. A connoisseur of the trivial.

When she laughed, he breathed deeply, lungs expanding in a space he'd never allowed them before, tried to absorb the molecules of her abandoned moments. If he'd learned anything, anything at all that pushed through the last few years, it was to savor whatever he could get.

Starved and glutted all at once with her.

It hurt worse, the crashing, the inevitable resistance to the meds he created, put together in the dark, eyes bleary as he pored over chemical equations and computer scans. Momentary, ephemeral bliss that lasted seconds or maybe hours, sometimes, and the longer her peace, the harder she crashed afterwards, the more she crumbled and clung to him against the cruelty of it.

Sometimes, when she was laughing the loudest, singing high, eyes brighter than ever, joy shining from her very skin, sometimes then he saw the fear of it hiding under her skin and it gave her a frantic edge that threatened to cut him.

"You like Kaylee," she reminded him in the privacy of four paper thin walls. "She likes you back."

"River…" He tried to deny it.

"I like her, too." A confidence, eyes boring deep into his as she pressed it. "Can't help but to do it."

"It's not that easy," he pleaded, leaning his forehead to hers.

"Always easy, the wanting." He held his breath as she lifted his wrist to her mouth and kissed the sensitive skin above his palm. "You make her shiver with it."

He smiled.

"You make me shiver, mei-mei."

She laughed at him, eyes warm, voice bubbling in her delight, the movement shaking through them both under the blanket.

"Only fair." She tossed the words at him, almost as a second thought, as she buried deeper into his arms and closed her eyes. "Payment in kind to both."

They were only words, but he couldn't forget them and his dreams that night were a confusing mix of images. A green vine growing in the thrum of a beating engine, leaking berry juice like dripping blood. His own hands slicing open a patient on a table to find butterflies rising up into his face, feather-light wings full of color tickling his eyelids. Mal's expressionless face watching him with one eye green and the other hazel brown. Thick full lips and small, slender fingers that danced over him.

He woke with a start, sweating, when the door to his room was thrown open suddenly.

"Simon!" There was Kaylee, cheeks bright and face glowing. "Come look, Jayne bought apples!"

Then she was gone and he was left gasping, looking down in a fuzzy haze at the rumpled, empty sheets. Nothing left but a long, thin brown hair curled into the edge of the pillow. His fingers shook as he picked it up and let it dangle in mid-air before letting it float, twisting into itself as it fell to the floor.

His heart took a long time to return to its normal pace.

And he stood quietly, giving Book only the most perfunctory responses. He didn't want to hear the man's theories about psychotic dictators and the men who took her, which would only echo or compound his own, stretch out the things he didn't want to visualize if he didn't know for certain. Imagination can often be crueler than truth.

From his spot in the infirmary, he could hear them and it made him close his eyes, laughter and giggles and breathless joy as they ran. Apples. So many tales and he was sure that if he spoke his mind to the man in front of him, he would hear the oldest one, apples and snakes, temptation and damnation.

As if he needed more of that.

He found her later, shivering and cold on his bed, just sitting and waiting. For him. His brain began the instant run through of medicines, the clinical listing of side effects and dosages and possible new combinations and adjustments, but his hands grabbed a blanket and his body rushed to her.

"But you felt okay this morning?"

"Played with Kaylee." And he couldn't ignore her smile, the quick dreamy look in her eye. "Sun came out and I walked on my feet and heard with my ears. I ate the bits, the bits that stayed down, and I work, I function like I'm a girl."

And he knew, even before the words came, he knew what they'd be, couldn't stop them.

"I hate it, because I know it'll go away. The sun goes dark and chaos has come again. Bits. Fluids. What am I?"

What other answer could he give?

"You are my beautiful sister."

 

### 12\. Dream Shaper.

She watched him, crouched in the silence of him, cross-legged between his feet as he slept. Her eyes worked over him, over the smooth planes of his skin, fingers curling loose as they splayed under his cheek. He was younger in sleep, face boy smooth and sexless.

Unlike his dreams.

Where she could float among the scenes of him. Not always, but most. Every now and again they were minefields, sometimes, explosive and dangerous enough to make her run from him and into a frenzy of crowded heads. Slipping like secrets from one to the other, knowing what couldn't be trusted. Sleep thoughts are never waking thoughts and couldn't be left to mix with them.

Sometimes she thought she knew what she shouldn't and wanted to say the words out loud. But never did. Couldn't bear the narrowing of eyes, the sharpness of fear on their tongues. Better to close her eyes and ignore the splinters of them. Answers could be given so easily if she could trust what she saw.

She didn't.

It was different with him, his dreams might as well have been hers. They came from the same mindspace. She would gladly have shared hers with him if she thought he could take them as they were meant to be given.

Flying high like a bird of old, wingspan larger than the ship they rode, feathers stronger than steel, flapping hard and fluttering in winds not even created yet. Skies blue and grounds green. The feeling of soaring high and plummeting low, swooping with seconds left to feel the gush of power in the rise again.

That was a good one, better than the one of pecking beaks, sharp through the paper thin flesh of a prickled little baby bird, neck too long, wings sparse and weak. Blood spurting high and fast and nothing but a tiny squawk of fear to be heard above the carrion eaters.

She couldn't be sure which one she would share, so she didn't, didn't know how even if she wanted to. And he wouldn't listen if she tried to explain it. Her words scared him when she did.

"Bird beaks." Trying to escape the feel of them in the crook of her elbow. "They break the skin."

"Mei-mei, it's just a shot." Soft voice she couldn't see and softer hands pressing her shoulders down. "Just a little one, you have to stay still. Please, for me?"

And the wounded look in his eyes when she cried but stayed still anyway, biting back the fear like he'd asked.

He thought he was the creator of her tears, the author of them, smithing the lines of silver down her cheeks like metal in fire. And she wanted to tell him he wasn't, but even then he wouldn't listen.

So she waited until she was linear and he was running his free hand down her cheek, his own tears hot as he leaned his face against hers.

"I'm sorry, River, I'm sorry."

"Words in the dust." Words always were, she tried to explain it to him, but her own failed her, so she kissed him, tasted the salt on him, took it into herself as she moved under his caresses. "No sorries for us."

She was the broken one, but he was cracking fast.

"You like Kaylee." Afterwards, he was a stubborn child who wouldn't listen. "She likes you back."

"River…" Oh, even her name sounded broken when he tried to lie.

"I like her, too."

And if he wouldn't take something for himself, she had to reach for it. Had to do something about the combustions in the room when they were together. The slow fiery rushes, the ache of wanting that she felt from one bouncing off the other and into the expanding echo of her three.

"Can't help but to do it."

"It's not that easy." Stubborn. Little. Boy.

"Always easy, the wanting." She could feel the waves of it, could always feel it, and not just from him. Why couldn't he see? "You make her shiver with it."

His bricks were falling.

"You make me shiver, mei-mei."

His words found her, picked her up in soft, fluffy clouds and padded her with the absurdity of it. Of course she did. He might as well have said she needed him, that he needed her. Facts that would never change.

"Only fair. Payment in kind to both."

River didn't know how to shape his dreams, but sometimes they didn't need it.

So many thoughts in the morning and they revolved around the objects in the kitchen. They were bright, red and bulbous, skin shining and she felt her mouth water with it. Only it wasn't her mouth. Wasn't her want. River couldn't shake it. It ran through her like a current.

"Apple of the tree."

Kaylee looked up with surprise, eyes wide.

"River! You want an apple? Jayne bought a whole crate of 'em."

"Yes." She reached out and let her fingernail touch the waxy fruit held in Kaylee's hand. "Good for the soul."

"Yeah." A bounce, River watched Kaylee toss it up in the air and catch it easily. "And they taste divine."

Couldn't help but smile.

"Crisp white flesh. Cider strong." A quirk of her mouth and she caught the apple mid-toss. "I want it."

"Really?" Confusion and delight in Kaylee's face, a challenge set as she tested the waters of River's sanity. "They're over there on the table, this one's mine."

"I like this one."

River let Kaylee reach out and take it back.

"Maybe so, genius, but it's still mine."

A shiver in it, the feel of play, of being a person and not a china doll too fragile to be enjoyed. She could taste it on her tongue, hot and tangy.

"Not for long." Snatch and run, Kaylee stood for a second before chasing her to the other side of the room. "I have it."

"There's a whole crate over there, gimme it!"

River looked at her with all seriousness.

"You want it, you have to fight for it."

"Oh." Kaylee made a face, a happy grin of challenge, and River felt the rise in it, felt the sublime of it. "I'll fight you, don't you fear none on that. Ain't nothin' comes between me and my food."

"Never fear, not with you." River grinned and poked out her tongue. "We both want the same thing."

"You're really not gonna give it back?"

Feet slamming into the floor as she ran.

"Maybe if you catch me!"

And the chase began.

But it ended too soon and she stopped running, stopped laughing and the tears came easily and Simon wasn't even there. But Kaylee was, warm-handed Kaylee who made soft noises, cooing into her ear, tracing circles on her back. The sounds of comfort that struck a chord in her, made her mouth twist in tight and her eyes clench with it.

Sounds a mother might make to a child and never had.

"I'm sorry, River." She couldn't do anything but shake her head to the words. "I shouldn't have chased you, I shouldn't have…"

"Not the point." River shook with the violence of it. "No point. No point. Apples aren't real."

"Of course they're real. We just ate them. If they're not real, River, what was I chasing you for?"

And there was the chaos, rising like an avalanche in reverse, like bits in acid, spouting forth and she couldn't breathe. The words ran around her head and she choked on them, couldn't make them do what she needed them to do.

"Simon…"

"Yes." Kaylee, grasping at it. "I'll go get him. I'm gonna go get Simon now, okay?"

River knew she'd get worse before she got better, knew she'd only be lucid enough to say what she wanted when it didn't matter, when the thread of it had vanished and nobody was looking at her anymore.

Not that it mattered, the entire thread of it vanished when she found Kaylee huddled, her mind screaming loud and flurried. River felt it again, that coiled, springing tension and didn't even try to fight it. No time to stop, no time to think, no time to count eggs in a basket.

And the release of it, the uncoiling, was exquisite in a way she couldn't even understand. Couldn't tell anyone how comfortable it was, gun in hand, targets spotted, eyes closed and pop, pop, pop. Bullseyes and ribbons. Dead dolls and a torrent of adrenaline pumping through, rolling over the fight and flight of Kaylee near her.

Fight, flight, fight never fly. No fight left, just fear in the face of her peace and wonder.

"No power in the 'Verse can stop me."

 

### 13\. Cider.

She'd always been a little wild, her pa's very own spirited rapscallion, like a breeze of spring her ma called her, always bringing a promise of sun. She can't help it, her granddaddy always said, she'd been born with a touch of the fairy in her, sparkle dust and honey mead. There ain't a thing in the 'Verse to keep her down long

That's what everyone always said and, it was common knowledge, everyone was always right

And Kaylee accepted it, too, not a thing to be done about it. She was good, she saw good in people and brought it out of them if it weren't there to begin with. It was much a talent as fixin' engines an' she wasn't gonna waste it or change it just 'cause few others saw things the way she did

It was just, sometimes, there was a mighty strong ache in the pit of her belly, an' it wasn't 'cause she'd been eatin' too much or too little or it were that time of the month. Nothin' like that. More likely it was seein' how Wash an' Zoe would have whole conversations in one look without speakin' a word, how she'd run a hand over his neck like her hands knew it all so well, the way his eyes would find her anywhere in a room and just ooze into warm pools. It was knowin' that there weren't no one like that for her, never had been. An' a few boys thrustin' at her here an' there didn't count none

Not really

She knew Inara'd understand. Sex was all well and good, better an' good most of the times, but it weren't ever to be mistaken for love. Love like her ma and pa had, like Wash and Zoe, like Mal and Inara if'n they ever took off their blinders and stopped bein' so stubborn. Even Jayne got that look in his eye, sometimes, when he was cleanin' his guns, or they was stopped at a planet and he had a woman, he'd be so gentle with 'em and everything

But Kaylee had no one and she kept her lonely nights with the ship, her baby girl, and made sure her smiles were extra bright during the day

That was until Simon and River had joined them and then everything changed. And it wasn't just 'cause he was all swai, which she'd have to have sewn her eyelids shut not to notice, but because there was so much in him that wanted to be fixed, that called out to her, made her want to reach out and tinker with the inner workings of him until he purred

He was like a skittish dog that had been whupped young, all shakin' when ya got near, an' like to whimper and run off if ya made any sudden moves. It took time an' patience, but she gentled him, eased him so's he was used to her

Didn't let go of the skittish habit, though, gettin' all prim and proper when there weren't no call to be, when she was all but throwin' herself at him. It had felt so good back on Canton, to slide into his comfort zone and feel his hands around her, feel someone holding her close like that, to have him look into her eyes and say warm, pretty things about her

And she knew, then, couldn't put it in words, 'cause her words were never as pretty as his an' she knew if she said 'em wrong, she'd scare the living daylights outta him, 'cause it was so delicate. But she'd known

Asked him not to get all prim and proper, not to go all stiff around her, when what she wanted was for him to be as comfortable with her as he was with River. She'd look at them, across the room, the two of 'em so close an' so easy with each other. He had no troubles holdin' her hand or touchin' her face, or even just smiling at her

The ache was like thunder sometimes, like a big, growlin' dog

But that wasn't what Kaylee Frye was about, no sir, no how. She kept it all to herself and stayed all shiny on the outside. No one saw, 'ceptin' sometimes she thought she saw it in River's eyes, watchin' her across the room, big brown eyes too knowin' to be comfortable at all

And the times when she did get close to him, thought she might finally break through the last of his shell, she'd look up an' see River watchin' them. But it weren't nothin' Kaylee had ever seen before when that happened, something in the way River's eyes drifted, like she weren't even watchin' them, but looking to some scene way past 'em. Like she could see so many things, mouth open and face yearnin'

Sometimes Kaylee wished she could see 'em, too

It struck her as almost funny, if River was spendin' her time wishin' to be like her an' Simon if she was spendin' her time wishin' to be like River an' Simon. She often wondered what Simon wished for.

Oh, it weren't hard to guess that the first thing he'd ask for would be for River to be all well again, hell, Kaylee figured that'd be just about the first thing she'd want too. It was hard watchin' the girl struggle so much for the simplest of things, to see her hurtin' so much an' knowing there weren't not a thing to be done about it

But past that, somethin' for himself, 'cause he deserved it. She knew he did, every time he sat so quietly and patiently with River, Kaylee saw how devoted he was and how much it took out of him

Like when they all got back from Ariel an' they'd almost been snatched by the feds, she could see it in his eyes how much it'd scared him, saw it in the shadows of his face after he'd stayed up real late lookin' at those scans

Kaylee wished real hard she could find something to make him happy. And it came, it always did when she wished hard and looked harder for an answer, came in a crate bought by Jayne. Shiny apples and they were the real deal, too, bright and crisp. Ain't none of the sour ones her ma made cider from

Man like Simon had to brighten up when confronted with fresh food like he was used to. Kaylee couldn't imagine growin' up someplace where everything you always wanted was there, just waitin' for you to reach out and take it, no waitin' for ships to dock, ships that sometimes didn't come in until the produce was half spoiled an' only good for pickling. Everything grew right there, plump and open.

It surprised her, though it really shouldn't've, when River got more excited about 'em than Simon. River got so happy, sometimes, over the smallest of things and it gave Kaylee chills, the good kind, when that happened. She loved to see the girl's eyes so bright, so knowing, sharp and jus' beggin' to be played with, for someone to laugh with and run around

She was many things, Miss Kaywinnit Lee Frye, but she ain't never been accused of bein' stupid. Quiet, if'n she took her mind to it, sure. Too cheerful, that one too. But anyone who knew her knew well enough knew that she kept her eyes open to what was around her

And if River was talkin' 'bout apples then she was gonna eat her toolbox. And smile when she was doin' it

Didn't stop her chasin' the girl around the ship, if only to hear the burst of laughter, the absolute tinkling delight of River as she ran. There was such life in her it made Kaylee almost seem like a dimmed out bulb

Just when everything seemed to be going so well, it weren't. That was the way of things and she should have remembered, but she was as guilty of gettin' caught up in the moment as anyone else ever has. Sure, River laughed and ran and giggled and her eyes shone so bright Kaylee almost forgot, but something always reminded her

Like watching River change from happy to darn right sick in front of her eyes and knowin' she'd done it. Knowin' that, maybe, she'd pushed too far and if River didn't know better than she shoulda

"I'm sorry, River." The girl was shakin' under her hand and it scared Kaylee some, more than some, really. "I shouldn't have chased you, I shouldn't have…"

Shouldn't have forgotten, shouldn't have taken a challenge and pounced on it like she was still a young girl just growed, without any knowledge of how the 'Verse worked

"Not the point. No point. No point. Apples aren't real."

She hated to hear the hurt in River's voice, hated it, as much as she'd ever hated to hear anything in pain. She wanted to take River into her arms and just hold her close, to just pet her until she stopped crying

"Of course they're real. We just ate them. If they're not real, River, what was I chasing you for?"

And if the answer surprised her, Kaylee made damned sure she didn't show it. She had to take a step back. Separate herself now before it was too late

"Simon…"

Oh, sweet Buddha in heaven, Simon. He wasn't gonna be happy, no way in any 'Verse spinnin' was he gonna be impressed

"Yes." She couldn't do anything but pretend not to know what was happening. "I'll go get him. I'm gonna go get Simon now, okay?"

And she left River there, trembling and trying to call her back. She knew it and she left to get Simon anyway

There wasn't any time after that to think on it, not really, not when Mal was being killed and havin' ears sent back to the ship. The sight of his bloody flesh in that white hankie just about made her throw up

Everything spinnin' out of control and maybe if she could just take that control back she'd know what to do, just stand up and refuse to be spun around. But it didn't work that way and it stunned her a little, 'cause Kaylee didn't have no problem with guns, she knew how to load 'em, never even gave it a second thought when Mal an' Jayne an' Zoe strapped themselves to the nines and went out on a job

Those men were shootin' straight at her, though, she could feel the bullets whippin' past her ear and she just couldn't point the gun back at them, couldn't find the right moment to squeeze the trigger. It was white hot, she remembered, the pull of metal through flesh, the ripping pain that tore air from her very lungs. They was men, real flesh and blood men and they was gonna kill her

An' Zoe had said they needed to hold the exit, that everythin' was lost if they lost the exit, an' Kaylee couldn't do anything to stop it. It was gonna be her fault, she was gonna be shot down and left to die bleeding on the steps of her baby as strangers came aboard and swarmed her

But she wasn't shot, she wasn't left to die. Two hands, calmer than they'd been before, River telling her not to worry as she took the gun and all Kaylee could do was stare, to watch as River took aim and mowed the men down like it was nothin'

Nothin' at all

The men died and Kaylee didn't ever remember River looking so happy and peaceful in all her time on Serenity. Just so calm about it as she rolled her head back, eyes glazed over an' a smile on her face, body sleek and quiverin' like a horse that just run a mile, as she looked at Kaylee

"No power in the 'Verse can stop me."

And it chilled Kaylee to the bone, damn right chilled her.


	35. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Haunted_ by **walkwithheroes**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/33503.html)  
>  October 31st, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Summary: River’s only friends are the ghosts.  
> Word count: 686

She thought she was dead, though that did not make any logical sense. She had been alive before; she had been alive and she had been with Simon. Simon had saved her, he had brought her on a ship and had her go to sleep in a box. Maybe she died in the box and now she was a ghost? Could that be why she heard but could not see the others around her?

_Let's see what a man like him would kill for._

_Kaylee could die…_

_Feds could be comin'._

_We should have never taken passengers._

_Doc ain't goin' near that box._

_My legs are cold…_

_I should have never left the abbey._

_That girl is important and if I don't return with her…_

_River! They can't see River._

Simon! Simon was out there, but maybe he was the one that is dead? The ghost of the old men's sins haunted her, so why couldn't Simon? River's only friends for the last few years had been ghosts. For a brief moment, she thought it would be alright to have Simon and these strange new people haunt her. At least she would no longer be lonely.

"Let's see what a man like you would kill for." A voice, a voice that sounded awfully far away said.

Somewhere far away River heard things that she could not see. Someone—maybe the person who has been talking—kicked something and suddenly River was cold.

_Huh._

_Merciful Buddha._

_Oh, God._

_No, that poor girl._

_That is one nice lookin' nekkid girl._

_River, they'll take her away!_

River quietly listened to her new ghost friends.

"I need to check her vitals." Simon urgently told the ghosts.

"Is that what they call it?" One of the ghosts asked, a hint of disgust in his tone.

Simon tried again. "She's not supposed to wake up for another week! The shock could—"

The head ghost cut Simon off. "The shock of what? Waking up? Finding out she's been sold to some border world baron? Or, I'm sorry—was this one for you? Is it true love? 'Cause you seem—"

Deep inside River, voices told her to wake up. _Wake up and tell them!_

She screamed and lurched out of the box. Screaming, River spilt out of the box, crawling backward and breathing hard. Looking around her, wild-eyed, River clearly saw that these new voices were not ghosts. No, not ghosts, but men. Flesh and blood men.

Suddenly, someone was next to her and River could have sworn she heard someone say her name. A man touched her and she screamed again; men made ghosts come into her head and she didn't need anymore.

"River. It's okay. It's okay. I'm here." River knew that voice. Simon! It was Simon and he was holding her and looking into her eyes.

Trying to focus, River felt tears welling up in her eyes. Simon was starting to cry as well, and his attention was fully focused on her. Looking around, River knew the men who were ghosts but weren't were worried and scared and confused. The lucid part of her brain wanted to tell them she always felt the same way.

"River…"

"Simon?" Her voice sounded small and River was still unsure if Simon was a man or a ghost. Of course, if Simon was a man, that still didn't solve anything. River's other ghosts had surfaced again and they began talking to her. Urgently, River whispered through tears: "Simon… They talk to me, they want me to… to talk…"

Simon held her close, wanting to comfort his haunted sister. "They're gone… they're gone and we're safe now, we're safe and I'm here."

River cried and deep inside her, the last sane part of her knew that Simon was wrong. River's ghosts weren't gone and they were by no means safe. Deep inside River's mind, the ghosts that had been her only friends for three years began whispering louder. _"Tell them, River. Help us get up. Tell them! Warn them, please. Make yourself a stone and tell our story."_ River only response to them was to begin crying, again.


	36. And He Gave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_And He Gave_ by **lethal_paine**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/31952.html)  
>  October 29th, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Simon's thoughts on/justification of why he's as close to River as he is.

She asked. He gave.

That's how things were with them.

* * *

When she needed him, he'd come to her call. Whether she was upset, or angry, or happy, even if she just wanted to see him—he always went to her. And he'd stay with her until she slept—and even then sometimes after. Sometimes he'd wake up beside her, sometimes alone in her room. But she asked when he gave, silently. Always silent. Communing without words, he knew when she was asking—what she was asking. He wasn't the one that could read minds, but he could read her, some of the time. Able to pick up on what she was and what she needed.

He gave her everything.

After all, she was his everything. He found it difficult at first, but after some time it came so freely to him, as if it were natural. However, time after time she never stopped asking… and he gave.

He gave and gave and gave…

And he felt guilt. The sting of a lie. He could not help but feel the weight in his heart time after time, fully aware of what he was doing. It had been his fault. Maybe if he had paid more attention, he wouldn't have let them cross that line… He had been foolish enough to give in the first place. He gave too much. The connection was now too deep to sever. Now… there existed a taint. Black ink slowly spilt into water.

His heart burned with the lie he lived. To everyone. To her. —It was love. He loved her so deeply that he couldn't help but give her everything in return of the everything she was to him. But it hurt. Hurt to know that he found himself craving more than just everything. He wanted the flattering label of convention. But it was unattainable. Inconvenient. It was impossible to be customary in the life he le—chose to live.

He knew the implications, the complications, the possible consequences—and he hid them, hid them all in the depths of his mind. After learning what had happened to her, a sliver of paranoia embedded itself within him. He had hidden them—his thoughts and feelings—but she couldn't. What if one day she asked him to give, and it broke the silence?

He was vile. Wretched. Depraved. Those exact words may not come to their minds, but their meanings would. There he was… corrupting the most immaculate being in the 'verse, and of his own flesh and blood. The dark that let the girl stray from the path. And yet…

When she asked, he gave.

At some point that he could no longer exactly place in his mind, he had asked himself how he was able to keep the feeble walls of his lies up, protecting them and protecting him. He asked himself how he was able to give and give and give time after time… And he thought of her, and her asking and needing. Subtle touch to the wrist just before moving to leave. Soft smile with a hand running through her hair. The smallest of steps and slightest of movements. He would end up staying. She would continue to ask, silently progressing with increased tension. Her body would move according to her needs, his responding in turn. She would persist, unsatisfied until he lost himself within her.

The answer to his question would come shortly after he thought she was going to leave. Absconded with by a stranger. There had been pain—sharp and physical—that left him wounded. Then realization came. 

He didn't want convention. The lie was never to her but to himself. It wasn't corruption he was committing. It was love. He lived to be with her, in every aspect.

He _wanted_ to give, and keep giving.

The guilt dissolved.

Of course, continued secrecy laced paranoia.

So Simon continued to lie, to them.


	37. Sleep Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Sleep Tight_ by **lethal_paine** and **skybison**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/30564.html)  
>  October 25th, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R/NC-17 for explict incestous sex (csi)  
> Summary: Simon tucks River into bed.  
> Comments: pwp, sexy, cute. Adapted from an RP.

River smiled up at Simon lovingly as he tucked her into bed, a hand moving to brush over his. She inhaled deeply, shifting so that her head rest more comfortingly back upon her pillow. Titling her gaze slightly, it didn't leave her brother's face.

Simon smiled as he finished tucking the covers and sheets in around her. He looked up at her face afterwards, kneeling at the side of the bed, both hands taking one of hers in to grasp. "Goodnight, mei-mei." He spoke softly and kissed her forehead, before kissing her lips briefly. Or… not so briefly, as his lips lingered for a few moments…

As he lingered, River inhaled sharply through her nose. Curiously, she dipped her tongue to run over Simon's bottom lip for the briefest of moments. Her eyes remained open for that moment, the look they contained smiling.

His eyes darted up to hers, and then went cross as if looking at their lips (not that it was possible). He waited a few more moments after her tongue before shutting his eyes and sliding his over her lips slowly.

As soon as Simon returned the gesture, River's eyes fluttered shut. She didn't wait until he was done to move her tongue to meet his, sliding a hand up his arm gently.

"River…" He whispered very quietly against her lips, moving one hand to rest on her abdomen as her tongue met his. He gasped slightly, lips parting in the process.

As had been done between them many times before, River moved to claim his mouth with her own. Her tongue childishly probed into his mouth, while the hand on his arm followed it down to her abdomen. Covering it, the girl arched her back slightly.

He kissed her deeply, but slowly, fingers curling slightly against her stomach. His other hand moved up into her hair, twirling the brunette strands around his fingers.

She muttered his name into the kiss in a breath, before moving her free hand to the back of his neck. River began to return the kiss just as deeply, tongue sliding along his as they explored each other's mouths (even though they were already very well known to each other).

Simon shifted so he was propped up a bit more, leaning over River in an attempt to deepen the kiss. It worked. Moaning so softly into her mouth, he caressed her scalp lovingly, his other hand flattening against her abdomen. Gasping in surprise as the kiss was deepened, River sharply inhaled again, exhaling in a bit of a moan. Her hands twitched then, moving from their former positions to run over Simon's arms and chest, looking for a place to grip.

As River moaned softly, Simon felt something well up inside him. He suddenly began to kiss her more fervently, the hand in her hair beginning to muss it.

Body arching gracefully upward in a soft gasp as Simon grew more intense, River moved both of her hands to her abdomen—over her brother's hand. She returned the kiss passionately. Simon moved again, moving one leg over her waist as he continued to kiss her passionately, his hands pulling out from beneath hers to fumble blindly with the buttons of his blouse. River helped him, the process going much quicker, as she wouldn't allow their lips to part. She had slowly began to push down her sheets, and by this time was getting down to her ribs.

Soon enough, Simon was shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and quickly it was on the floor. This left him bare chested, and his hands moved down to occupy themselves with his nuisance of a belt. River smiled and also moved to help with his belt, before moving her hands down to finish pushing down her sheets. "Simon…" she gently called, picking up her nightshirt to her waist. Eyes fluttering to half open, she moved to slide her panties off, giggling.

He smiled against her lips as his belt finally came undone, sliding a hand down to unbutton his pants and adjust his underwear so that he could free his erection. A grin spread across Simon's face as he saw her push her panties down, and he leaned up to kiss her again.

River smiled happily against his lips as they kissed, her fingers combing the hair at the back of his head. While she did this, she stretched her legs out with the grace of the dancer she was—parting them for him.

Simon moved one hand into her hair, smiling into the kiss. His other hand moved down to grasp himself, guiding himself to her wet entrance. He bit her lower lip softly as he slid into her… slowly, savoring her slick warmth. River shivered and gasped a moan as she felt him move into her, hands twitching slightly again. Her concentration had been removed from their mouths, and instead downward, to his presence that pressed into her slowly and completely. She was complete, now.

He moved on top of her fully now, hands moving to either side of her for leverage as he began to slide in and out of her rhythmically, panting hot breaths against her lips. River's head tilted back as he slid in and out of her, back rising as she moaned richly. She just kept her pace in check with his, her hands at the back of his head faltering as all of her other senses shut down, all except touch.

His mouth slid down to her neck, never touching, just hovering closely… his hot breath curling against her skin. His breathing was growing heavier as he slid in and out of her, body trembling every now and then. It didn't take much more for her to begin to close tightly around him as she flinched beneath him, softly pulling at him. River's voice rang out as she moaned, bringing her hands to her head in fists.

As she tightened around him, Simon exhaled deeply, releasing himself inside of her. He continued to move into her slowly afterwards, until finally he rest on top of her, head falling onto her shoulder.

River could only pant and gasp for air, holding onto him tightly. She was finished, she was totally complete. Blinking a few times, she moved to look down at Simon, smiling lovingly.

As he felt her head adjust, he pulled back slightly to smile up at her. Simon then learned forward, kissing the tip of her nose, "I love you, me-mei."

"I love you as well, Simon…" River murmured sleepily, moving to play with his hair for a few moments. She grinned slightly as she laid her head back and began to nod off. Simon scooted up a bit so that his head rested next to hers, kissing her ear gently before closing his eyes as well.


	38. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [_Comfort_ by **lethal_paine**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/28984.html)  
>  October 23rd, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG for um… tiny bit of violence  
> Summary: Simon has a bad dream and River takes to comforting him.

Time was against him. It surrounded him in four enclosing walls that had the intention to crush. He seemed to nearly drown in the urgency that welled up around him as it felt as if they were closing in. Despite this, his eyes remained focused, determined, and he refused to see this become a loss.

The Feds would be there at any moment, and he had to get the bullet out. To his horror, Kaylee started screaming, the effects of the painkillers wearing off much too soon. They didn't have enough. —There was shouting from the cargo hold, followed by gunfire. Blue eyes widened momentarily before refocusing. He'd be damned if he didn't at least save one life that day…

So tied up with the insanity drenching his surroundings, what came next made his blood run cold.

"Simon!" a girl's voice screamed from outside. He nearly dropped everything, freezing up. "Oh, god, _no_ …" he muttered, turning from the wounded girl on the table. Just as he was about to leave the room, Kaylee cried out in pain. Turning, Simon hopelessly looked from Kaylee to down the hall. "River!" he called out, hanging out of the room by the door frame.

"Simon…?" This time, it was Kaylee that had called him, crying out his name as her arms futilely reached for him.

A look of sheer horror passed over his face, feeling himself torn. Just as he moved to glance out of the door again, a searing pain ripped through his arm. He cried out, finding himself being dragged out of the room. He struggled, by the hold on him was too strong, and his arm in too much pain. "N—No!" Simon turned his head back to Kaylee, who had gone limp. "Kaylee—No!"

Faster than he could gain a grip on, Simon found himself staring directly at River, who was being held up by a barrage of arms, as needles moved to penetrate her hands, arms, neck, and forehead. He called out to her, finding himself unable to move and a thousand miles away. The girl let out an agonizing scream as blood began to stream down between her eyes from her forehead.

" **RIVER!** "

Simon jumped up, finding himself staring straight at her. He was panting, and it took him a few minutes to realize that he was in bed, a light layer of sweat covering his bare chest. Catching his breath, he processed his surroundings. He was aboard Serenity, a few months after Miranda. He had saved Kaylee from that bullet a year ago, and the Feds had never caught a hold of him and River since Ariel. But all of this didn't explain…

"You had a nightmare," River stated, sitting on her knees at the foot of the bed.

Looking down momentarily, Simon cleared his throat of sleep before speaking. "No, mei-mei, I'm fine. You should be getting back to bed." He couldn't worry her. What good would it do him to take care of her while he couldn't take care of himself?

"You lie too much," she replied simply.

He frowned, her words holding too many connotations to his liking. Simon opened his mouth to say something, but the girl cut him off. "Simon never shouts so loud…" she remarked softly, tilting her head slightly as she gave him a weak smile.

The young medic blinked at her for a few moments before speaking. "How loud was—"

"You said nothing."

Confusion muddled his mind for a few more moments, before he gratefully smiled at his sister. "Mei-mei, I—" He stopped, a scream echoing in his brain. River's. His jaw dropped as he was overwhelmed with the guilt he had felt in his dream. The urgency made his heart race, and the sorrow he had felt as he watched them take River was… Heartbreak hit his senses at full force, and he had to bite back a breath that threatened to escape his lips unsteadily.

Then he realized that River had moved up to sit before him, his hands in her own. She looked concerned, but with piqued interest. With a gulp, he looked down. She caressed his hands lovingly. "What made him shout so loud…?" the girl asked softly, looking up into his eyes.

Simon sighed, trying not to let the images he had seen engrave themselves onto his mind, but failed. He had a feeling that River already knew what he had dreamt, and maybe thought that if he expressed them to someone else, he would be more at ease. "Oh, River… They're just a jumble of past events meshed together."

This didn't seem to satisfy her. So he took in a deep breath, trying to steel himself against the heartache so he could recount his dream to River.

"I dreamt… that I was trying to treat Kaylee for a bullet wound in her stomach." Despite his attempts, Simon already found himself moving to clutch River's hands as she held them. "The Feds were about to board… and…" Simon kept his voice calm, although he replayed the dream in his head and felt panic begin to run through his veins again. "The drugs wore off, and she started _screaming_ —there was gunfire…" His tone noticeably picked up a sense of aforementioned panic, much to his dismay.

"And she was dying…" In the years that he practiced as a surgeon, he had never once had to tell someone that his patient was dying. Although he had practiced it, the instance had never come up, until now, even if it had only been a dream. The emotional residue of it was proving too strong for him to suppress.

"Then… I heard you scream, you were calling for me… The Feds must have boarded. But I— _I didn't know what to do_." Simon began to sound helpless, as his eyes raised to his sister's face.

River brought one of her hands out of his grip and raised it to his temple, gently stroking it. He breathed slowly, surprised at the feeling of his throat threatening to close up. Biting the inside of his lip, he continued. "I just… _stood there_. —Before I could do anything else, I was being dragged off. I looked at Kaylee…" On the contrary to his first belief, saying it nearly made it more real to Simon, and he hated himself at that moment. "…I had let Kaylee die… And then…" The words were weak on his lips, his eyes adverted themselves shamefully away. River only continued to run her fingertips comfortingly over his temple, leaning in slightly to show him that he still had her attention. However, she was surprised when a hand came to her cheek, with Simon's eyes looking sorrowfully into her own. "Mei-mei… I saw them take you away from me…"

His heart wrenched with guilt and failure… **devastating** guilt…

Everything had been taken away from him and all he could do was watch, even if it had been all a dream… he couldn't help but imagine that someday it could be real.

"River, I'm sorry…" Simon began, running a hand into her hair lovingly. He clenched his jaw as his heart grew increasingly heavy.

"No transgression," she replied, trailing her arms up and around his neck, slowly pulling him toward her in an embrace. He returned the gesture and wrapped his arms around her waist, senses slightly shocked that the girl he had seen screaming in his dreams was perfectly fine in his arms. "Just a dream…" River continued softly, running a hand through the hair on the back of his head. The medic relaxed and let the girl ease them back against the bed, moving so that his head came to rest on her chest.

So many times… he had helped her ward off the nightmares. River felt it to be time for her to do the same for him.

Simon came to hold onto her tightly, as she tenderly caressed his temple and scalp. His racing heart calmed. "I'll never let anyone take you away from me… he muttered, pressing his cheek against her chest and shutting his eyes."

"I'm not flying the coop," River assured him, smiling, before leaning down and kissing the top of his head. Looking up at her, he raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he smiled and began to shift his weight so that he was leaning over her at eye level. Just as he opened his mouth —River spoke his exact thoughts.

"I'll protect you," she smiled, before leaning up to nuzzle his cheek. He let out a soft laugh and returned the nuzzle, shifting again so that he could bring a hand to her cheek and caress it as she pulled back. His thoughts reflected back to a few months prior, and his thoughts as he watched her jump through the closing latch. Had he not been in so much pain, he would have cried out for her to stop. Then he would have cried for her at the idea of her facing a room full of Reavers unarmed. But once the doors opened again… It frightened him, it truly did. It scared him to think that this petite, fragile looking, miraculous girl could be so… powerful. Then it scared him to think that she had used this power… to protect _him_.

This brought him back to the present, River resting comfortingly back against his pillow, eyes shut as he continued to caress her cheek. Smiling, he leaned down and gently bumped his nose against hers. Eyes fluttering open, River smiled and grinned briefly, moving a hand to the back of his neck. They bumped noses again, giggling. After a few more brushes, they slowly came to a pause. Simon gazed down upon River admiringly, with River faintly smiling back at him in return. Sighing contentedly, the girl leaned up and placed her lips on her brother's affectionately. He returned the small kiss shortly, before pulling back and running a hand through her hair.

"I love you."

Simon blinked for a moment, surprised that his thoughts were once again spoken aloud, before he realized River was speaking to him. "I love you too, River…" he smiled, before moving to pull her in close to him. They rested back against the bed then, Simon blissfully at peace for the moment.


	39. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Eyes_ by **exsequar**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/26833.html)  
>  October 13th, 2005

His eyes always find her. When River enters the room, Simon knows. His consciousness is tuned to her, constantly alert, concerned. She takes up his whole world.

But her eyes are always somewhere else. They stare through and past and in all at once. She sees what isn't there, but also more of what is. She speaks and her words make no sense. Apple bits. Hands of blue. Secrets. It scares him sometimes.

Then her eyes come back to his, and suddenly she's just a little girl. She kicks his shin, she smiles. In these moments, he has found himself.


	40. Plush Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Plush Bliss_ by **Tania (sheppardspie4te)**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/26248.html)  
>  October 9th, 2005

River sashayed into her husband's study room. The crimson coloured garment parting elegantly exposing dancers limbs of feminine perfection.

Simon was writing a letter to the medical board of Ariel when he breathed in his wife's scent. He quietly lidded his black ivory pen and placed it inside his navy blue pocket vest.

His mahogany table with creamy coloured parchment suddenly flashed scarlet red as his china doll lowered herself to sit on the table.

Crimson blues eyes caressed every part of her before he met with unparalleled brown eyes. The strength beauty and graceful intelligence in them tore at his manhood.

"Simon" River whispered crossing her legs, the red gown parted to reveal a long elegant limb.

"Yes my darling," Simon whispered placing his hand on her exposed thigh. He ran his long fingers slowly up her leg never once losing eye contact with his wife.

She smiled graciously down at him lowering her head slightly as to send her long jet black hair rippling down past her shoulders, caressing her breast to slowly swinging still near her abdomen, where their creation was growing.

He leaned forward in his chair, he slowly parted her legs, he kept his eyes locked with hers as he bent his head between the silk clothing, to place a lingering kiss on her inner thigh

She slightly closed her eyes the touch of his lips and hands reminding her why she was pregnant.

They had decided that at this time of the pregnancy they should not have sex for fear of injuring the growing foetus.

But River missed the sensuous touch of her husband, his milky white skin gleaming with sweat as he thrusted her orgasms to her so powerfully as she lay whimpering below him, her dancers legs wrapped around his middle. He always made her come more then once.

She missed those incredible mornings when the suns rays would lighten their ebony and glass emerald master bedroom and peak in through the satin curtains that covered her bed like a marquee. The light would dance upon her face awakening her to Simon slowly sucking on her nipple readying her for sex.

Simon stood up from his chair so he was now level with River who was sitting on his desk. He cupped her face gently and kissed her with sweet, tender, passion. Massaging his lips slowly over hers as he laid her down on the desk.

He straightened back up and ran a hand across her abdomen. He loved this little miracle growing inside her so much that sometimes it was unbearable.

River had wanted to feel her husband's hands on her when she entered the room. She knew that they could or would do nothing more until the baby was born. But just placing herself in front of his view was enough. He never could keep himself from touching her.


	41. I Have the Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _I Have the Touch_ by **poisontaster**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/22838.html)  
>  July 26th, 2005

"River," he says, "There's a line—"

But a line is only an artificial construct. It doesn't exist in nature.

So she steps over it.

* * *

Once she was lost.

Well, not really; she wasn't _lost_. She knew exactly where she was—the shoe department, running her fingers over buckles and sharp toes and rounded heels, and laces all the colors of the spectrum. It was everyone else that was misplaced. But even so, those are the words you use: _getting lost_. So, okay. Fine. She was lost.

There was a man that found her. He was tall and had stubble and didn't smell very good. He had the kindest eyes. They were brown. He wore a belt made out of braided milky plastic, the kind they use to bind soda into packs of six.

She takes a moment to run through the multiples: _six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, thirty…_

He held her hand, the man, and he took her to the store cafe and bought her a three-scoop sundae with a handful of hard cred. She'd never seen hard cred before. He let her have one of the coins. Later she wore it on a piece of string, under her clothes, where her mother wouldn't see it, until finally the string broke, and she lost the coin. But she remembers it, the texture of it against her fingers.

She hadn't eaten very much ice cream before her mother came running up. She'd never seen her mother run. She'd never seen her look so frightened either. Her blue eyes are wide. Her mouth is a rouged **O** of horror and dismay. She tries to explain but her mother rips her from the booth. Over and over again, she asks, "Did he touch you? Oh, River, _did he touch you_?"

But her mother never gives her a chance to answer. Her father and Simon are waiting near the store's doors. With one somber look, her father ushers them into the waiting car. At home, she's lectured about the importance of staying with the family. Later, her mother talks to her about "good touch" and "bad touch".

"He was nice," she insists, tired and cranky now. She doesn't know what she did wrong. "He just held my hand. He bought me ice cream. I just wanted some ice cream." She starts to cry, and her mother showers her face in kisses then takes her downstairs and they have sundaes, just the two of them.

The whole time, though, her mother's hands are restless. They fiddle with the collar of her pyjamas, tangle or stroke through her hair, grip briefly at her arm. Finally she grabs her mother's wrist and looks at her. "Mom," she says sternly, "I'm fine."

Her mother gives a nervous, yelping laugh, and that's the end of it.

* * *

When she can, she watches Simon in the infirmary. She likes to see him there, where he feels most at home, most himself. It's _not_ home, but he makes do. Simon always makes do.

First he wipes down the surfaces. The smell of astringent makes her sneeze, a sound she hides behind both hands. She doesn't want him to know she is here. He will worry, and he will stop, because he won't want her watching. This is his time, a ritual he conducts in private. There is so little private. She is not private; she lost everything and held back nothing. Now it all slips through her fingers, and she misses when she could cup it in her hands and hold it.

 _There's a line_ , he says, and though it isn't real, he needs to pretend it is, and he needs her to pretend it is. For Simon, she can pretend. He would always pretend for her, when she asked.

Next, he sterilizes all his instruments. Surgeon's fingers caress metal familiarly, like they could caress skin. He knows these devices, their every nick and blemish, the way he knows the bones of his own hand. He knows what they can do and what they won't. He lays them out in neat rows on paper. When Simon holds them like this, they are beautiful, and not scary at all.

Sometimes, he touches her like that; like she's beautiful and not scary. He combs her hair, the way he did when they were little, and she says: _See? See how we've come full circle? The line is gone._

"Yes, _mei-mei_ , I see," he answers. But his smile is the squinchy eyed one that tells her he hasn't. He doesn't understand.

Not at all.

* * *

She's very conscious, after the store. Of touch.

_I touch, he touches, she/he/it is touching._

Touch, touching, being touched. Her mother has always been a toucher; tugs Simon's vests straight, rearranges her hair, runs her fingers across the maple and mahogany of the sideboard when the maids aren't looking. Their father, on the other hand, is not. Rarely does he rumple Simon's hair and she thinks only she notices how Simon's eyes glow when he does.

Sometimes touch is not a function of the physical. Her mother watches a vid and cries. _Oh, that was so touching_ , she says, and she understands her mother has been touched on the inside, by something different than skin and bone. Her father gets a promotion, his third in two years. _I was so touched, when Brisdon thought of me,_ he says.

This is what she learns: everything touches and is touched in return.

At the Academy she was touched. It was bad, a bad touch, all the time, until every part of her felt pierced and holed and shamed.

But when her mother caught Simon masturbating, she said that was a bad touch too. She has masturbated, more successfully than Simon. She can't remember much that ever felt quite so good.

And this is what she learns: good touch, bad touch—it's just another line.

* * *

Touched is also slang for crazy.

They think she is crazy, often—though not all the time. It's mixed in with other things, a confusing tumble that hits and hits and hits until she is on the ground, gasping from blows no one can see. And then it comes floating out to her like the smell of cleanser from the infirmary:

_crazycrazycrazy_

_that girl ain't quite right_

_touched/tetched_

_poor crazy thing_

_I'm not a thing!_ she wants to say, _and I can_ hear _you!_ But there's so _much_ and she can't make them understand, even when she tries, and it just makes her tired. So very tired.

Still, crazy means they don't touch. Mostly. Sometimes they do. Chasing Kaylee down staircases and across catwalks, wresting an apple from calloused and clever fingers. Inara, soft and perfumed, and pressure on fourteen parts. Sometimes, Wash will ruffle her hair exactly like their father didn't. But mostly there is space around her, empty and untouched.

She thinks of the shield maidens on Earth-that-Was. She thinks of oracles. They too were untouched, symbolic. She knows that she too is a symbol, though she's not sure of what. She doesn't want to be a symbol; a symbol is yet another kind of line, and lines do not exist. She thinks she exists. She _wants_ to exist, and thus she can't be either line or symbol.

But this she can't explain either.

* * *

Untouchable.

It's not only for shield maidens and oracles. The absence of touch does not make it good. Also there are lepers, pariah. They are untouched. Unwanted. Unclean.

And she wonders, _which am I_?

At night she wakes from bad dreams, even unbounded by nutshells, and she is alone in her room and the skin that cried out so desperately to _stop! stop!_ now screams with the desperation for something else. She wants to be held, to be given form and shape by the hands of another. Unsteady, she crawls from beneath clinging sheets and opens the door and crosses the hall.

The bunks are not wide, but even so, Simon always sleeps crushed to one side, leaving space for this very thing. For her. She huddles against him, and even in sleep, his hands creep around her, and pull her close. " _Mei-mei_ ," he murmurs, and something in her unclenches and something in her unknots.

He loves her, Simon. He came for her, and took her back, and took her away, and now it's he that holds her up and makes her remember. There is a River-shaped hole in him, and she fills it gratefully, knowing it's hers.

With Simon, she's never untouchable.

She's in his hands.


	42. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Broken_ by **river_soul**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/17118.html)  
>  May 21st, 2005

"I'm broken," she told him, fingers tightening around his, seeking and wanting.

"Yes you are," he agreed, thumb gently stroking her hand in familiar dance of promised comfort they'd become so accustomed to. He could feel her relax into him, feel the bundled fear slip out of her with each breath that tickled his neck and twisted his heart. "But I'm going to fix you," he promised.

"Like a paper," she whispered, "once it's been crumpled it can't be perfect again. Letters that don't fit, more than 26, it's not prime you know."

"I know baby, I know," he whispered, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss and failure well up within the empty place in his heart where hope once was.


	43. Propriety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Propriety_ by **river_soul**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/17118.html)  
>  May 21st, 2005

River remembers when she was younger, remembers the rules her mother taught her that told her how to act. She learned to talk in a pleasing manner, to make jokes and be darling. She knows the correct utensils to use for every meal and situation and more than once she was Simon's reminder. She knows when she is to speak and when she is to be quiet. She was a child prodigy, gifted perhaps, but still a young lady and she was to act accordingly.

These things she's learned, practiced, don't apply to Serenity and so she has to learn again how to be, how to act. Simon is lost too, polite when he should be gruff, stumbling over silly things. He can save lives but he can't talk to Kaylee and Jayne makes him wary.

It's not right.

She wants to tell Simon that but he'll look at her like she's broken. He'll still listen, even when she skips and her words are jumbled because she is his sister, his world and maybe one day she'll tell him something of worth.


	44. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Hands_ by **river_soul**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/17118.html)  
>  May 21st, 2005

Their first week on Serenity River watches Simon, eyes prying and wanting. She observed the changes in him, seeing the things that have altered in the years since she's been gone. He is taller and prouder now without the weight of their parent's expectations bowing his back. He's become a doctor, done as they asked and become the great son. He's finished, shiny, as Kaylee would say.

River feels small and ugly next to him, she is unfinished and broken. She is all angles and planes where there should be curves and Simon is no longer the boy with awkward limbs and feet too big. He's grown into them, into the doctor hands he was born with. River looks at her own hands, long and slender, and she wonders what she'll grow into.


	45. mei-mei (poem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["mei mei" by **electrcspacegrl**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/16693.html)  
>  May 20th, 2005

awake  
but not awake  
the crack in my eyes  
and silence

mei-mei  
and a little bit of everything  
cows and souls and stars  
and books that sing  
and rain  
and rain in my heart but no rain at all

in you i'm safe  
and always  
while soft and torn  
and new and warm

and always

but break, don't break  
we are nothing if not hearts that last forever  
bigger than you, bigger than me

and safe  
but not safe  
the fires they light  
burning you to get to me

and always, and torn  
and warm  
and always


	46. Formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Formed_ by **fuschia**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/14386.html)  
>  May 10th, 2005

Seeing metal in Simon's hand again, River thinks about how it would feel to snap his arm backwards beneath her boot-heel, to revive a planetary memory of springtime, the wet, unsettling crack of willow branches brought too soon to windy atmospheres, and

_(the world outside her bedroom window had always roiled, the perpetual storm of the terraformed, and)_

in the moment when Simon brings the needle towards her, River's own new form rises, too, all roil and ready.

_(the faux-glass lay cool beneath their interlaced fingers, ghosted over with their breath, a)_

Kneeling before her, Simon, silent, circles the fingers of his free hand through her hair where it falls against her face. His fingers smell of antiseptic, a sterile clarity puncturing the sourness of a ship too long in the black, and they linger, glass-cool, against her forehead. One finger follows a wet curl down to brush against her mouth; his fingertip catches where she has bitten her lips to blood.

His eyes meet hers as she would meet her own in a mirror, locked.

_(sanctuary in the deep-windowed room together, formless, unformed)_

Unfurling her arm into his waiting grasp, she waits, for the needle's point to fuse them.


	47. Reflected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Reflected_ by **J. C. Eastling**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/13246.html)  
>  May 2nd, 2005  
> 

When Kaylee walks into the engine room, River is there, and she has a number of parts and pieces spread out around her.

Kaylee's first instinct is to go get Simon, but she remembers that he's sleeping. That stops her. He's been so busy lately; she doesn't want to ruin what little sleep he can get. It's not like she hasn't been disrupting his sleep in other, more enjoyable ways.

A quick glance tells her that none of the parts River is moving around are vital to the functioning of Serenity. So she crouches next to River and says, "Whatcha doing?"

"Making things fit," River says, and she pushes two pipes against each other. " _They_ won't fit," she complains.

Kaylee picks up a joint from the mess and holds it out to River. "Put this between them," she says. "Here, right like that." She puts her hands over River's and guides the pieces into place. "That fits."

River smiles as she turns the construct over in her hands. "He likes you," she tells it, and it takes Kaylee a moment to realize she is not speaking to the pipes.

"What?" She would blush if she were more innocent, but River has the power to make her feel more awkward than anything, so she's almost blushing as it is. "I mean—I know he likes me, I…"

"You like him too. You like it—" River reaches out. "When he touches you. Like this." She puts her hand beneath Kaylee's shirt.

Kaylee scrambles back, staring at River. "Yes, but—River, you can't do that like that, it's different—you _ask_ first, and…" She found herself trailing off again.

"He doesn't always ask you," River says. "Sometimes he puts his arms around you from behind." She mimics the gesture with her smaller arms. "And lifts you up a little. And you laugh. You like that." She really does sound confused.

"Yeah… but…"

River leans forward and holds the pipes out to Kaylee, as if she were offering her a precious gift. Kaylee can see River's reflection distorted in the metal, but it warps away when she takes the construct between her thumb and forefinger.

River's eyes are so wide. "Sometimes—when he touches you—"

Kaylee looks up from the pipes, fear building up inside her.

"Sometimes he's thinking of me."


	48. untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [By **fleshlycherry**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/11041.html)  
>  April 10th, 2005

> _And God help you if you are a phoenix,_  
>  _And you dare to rise up from the ash._  
>  \- Ani Difranco, "32 Flavours"

Its scares him that I might get better. More than black, open space. More than bounty hunters. More than two by two. It terrifies him that his frantic late night scribbling and his methodical, glacially slow calculations will actually amount to something and that he will be able to bring me back out of my own mind. That I'll be able to formulate proper sentences and that I won't hear everyone's voices all at once. That maybe, just maybe, I won't need him anymore. And when that happens he isn't going to like the man he becomes. Then he'll have to try and love her like she wants him to even though he can't. That just isn't the way he works, he has to possess and she is like a wild sea bird. He would try and put her into a gilded cage but it would still be exactly that, a cage. So she would fly away and he would be alone again. Then he would turn to flesh and stubble and gun oil and fucking and it would be good. I can feel how good it would be at night when he practices, but it wouldn't be enough and they would both want to grip too tightly and they would tear each other to pieces. Then he could become the man Mother assumes she raised him to be. He would sit in her shuttle and pretend to be civilized out here in a place that they both know isn't and they would drown their sorrows in cups of sake laced tea and each other. Soft, silent, no names, and no regrets. It wouldn't last long, she is too tall, he too cultured. And that is when he would turn to the Latin. That is where I would lose him to the complex grammar and suffixes and conjugations. That is when it scares me that I might get better. So I swallow the pills only when he is watching and ignore the clearing in my mind after injections that work far better than he'll ever know. I spin and cry out in the middle of the night with tears in my voice so that we can both have an excuse. And God help me the day I can't be broken anymore.


	49. Wrestling With Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Wrestling With Angels_ by **mona1347**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/9762.html)  
>  February 5th, 2005

Book sat Bible in hand, keeping watch. River thrashed restlessly in her sleep. _"Like Jacob wrestling with the Angel,"_ he thought.

It had been a Bad Day. Simon injected her with a high-dose smoother and Book offered to watch over her for a while so they could all get some sleep. Simon's eyes were bleary and he blinked rapidly as Book shooed him across the hall, assuring him he wasn't sleepy and it wasn't too much trouble.

Book was deep into his reading when he glanced over at the bed, then jerked to see River had sat up. So slowly and quietly he hadn't seen her move at all. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes were unfocused. "Not gonna find me," she whispered as she slid to her feet. For a moment Book was too startled to move or say anything, then realized that a combination of the drugs and her dreams seemed to be causing her to sleepwalk. He decided it was best to move aside and let her past him rather than wake her and possibly face a violently loud scene. She seemed calmer now than when her eyes were closed.

* * *

Move past the Shepherd and his Symbol. Not relevant. She heard his thoughts as she slid her compartment door open… _wrestling with the angel… sleepwalking… better to let her go and follow… not wake the others._

The numbers loom in her path as she makes her way past the infirmary. Blocking her with their hard curves and solid facts. Slowing her down even more than her heavy legs.

_Neozolpidem. 50mg. A high dose reserved for only the most agitated of paranoid schizophrenics. Causes drowsiness, fatigue in limbs, lucid dreams (why, Simon, why this one?), dizziness, lethargy, sensitivity to light, sore throat, dry mouth._

She pushes past numbers she can't fight in this state. She's too heavy, too clouded. Can't hide. Each number is a fact, a figure. The steps from her bunk to the galley. The candles in Inara's shuttle. The number of bullets Vera holds. The people Mal has killed.

_No. It's not relevant. Data that gets in the way._

The numbers close in, oversized and pressing around her. She scuttles up the stairs and leaves them below her.

The Shepherd is following her silently up the stairs and down the hall toward the galley. He learned his craft well but she's better. She moves slightly faster and she hears…

_She'll be fine. She can hardly get into trouble right now with everyone sleeping. Planet time-lag. It's always the one-day stopovers that disrupt a body the most. I'll listen for her from the table._

He is relieved to let her wander. He would never admit it.

River glides down the front hallway towards the bridge, gazing at the curved ceiling, her fingers brushing along the hum of Serenity's cool metal walls.

Then they are playing hide and seek on Osiris. River can see Simon from her space high in the rafters of the attic. She would be clearly visible if he looked up. Simon doesn't think to hide and seek in three dimensions.

_The human mind does not instinctively look upwards for danger. Brains evolved on the African savannahs of Earth-That-Was don't fear predators from above. Nothing is big enough to kill. Only hurt. Processing power is better channeled to the predators on the ground. There are plenty._

Simon will never find her.

He never finds her unless she wants him to.

He is looking behind a stack of paintings. River drops silently from the rafters onto a soft pile of paint-spattered cloths. Whenever Simon seems to be coming close to one spot, she has always made sure to leave herself a way out to slip into another dark corner. Would never tell him that though. Just pretend to get caught. She slips softly down the stairs.

She's in the upstairs hallway and its time for another game as she sees him creep along the long patterned carpet. River seems to materialize next to the column she slid behind to watch him search and leaps at Simon's brocade-vested back.

"Caught you!"

A look of surprise flutters across Simon's smooth face in the moment before they tumble to the thickly carpeted floor. His arms grasp at her waist as if she'll be hurt even while he himself is falling flat onto his back, her gangling adolescent form clinging to his shoulders and chest.

 _Don't worry_ ge-ge _, I've got you. Don't need to stop me falling._

They land with a thump and Simon's laughing groan. He smiles, "Too smart for me _mei-mei_." His eyes are closed. Bottomless. Like oceans on Earth-That-Was. They lay there, gasping with suppressed laughter. A pause to listen for unwanted footsteps that would say "Master Tam! Miss Tam! What in the _'verse_ … your parents…"

Simon struggles to get up and she laughs and pushes him back down. "Brat!" he breathes, exasperated. Then everything suddenly shifts inside and he nuzzles his lips into the crook of her neck, skimming along her hairline.

"You smell real pretty," he murmurs sleepily.

His strong hands caress her back, skim down over the curve of her backside. Pulls her closer. She can feel him harden against her thigh…

Jayne's eyes snap open, aroused, pupils blown wide. Confused, then angry, then aroused again. Then scared.

He grabbed at her throat reflexively. "Gorrammit little girl, what the name of _suoyou de dou shidang_ are you doin'? D'you know what Mal'd do t'me if…"

With a quick, precise shift of River's weight, they tumble from the narrow bunk onto the floor.

"Now," River gasps breathlessly in realization, the drug-fog parting sharply and revealing Jayne's terrified face.

_Now._

It's now. Not then. Here. Jayne's Bunk. Not home. Not Simon.

"I have to go now."

Jayne is still dazed on the floor as she scrambles up the ladder.


	50. untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [By **jebbypal**](https://light-it.livejournal.com/8739.html)  
>  January 27th, 2005

Simon used to scare her with nursery rhymes. The tale of Hansel and Gretel always gave her nightmares even after she turned two and realized that a house made out of gingerbread with an oven inside was both illogical and a fire hazard. At Christmas time, she engineered her gingerbread houses with structural flaws just in case she became trapped in them.

Simon always found her childish fears cute and endearing; she detested him for it. It was his favorite pastime to think of ways to make the stories gorier as she grew older. No matter how much she protested his renditions as false, she could never make him stop. Now she just longed to be curled up in his bed shivering with goosebumps at his newest phantasmagoric nursery rhyme.

Soon though, the searing winds of pain eradicated these simple fears. What were made-up illogical stories in the face of the unstoppable destruction of her mind and sanity? What is left when the seamless merging of your dreams, fantasies, and fears erases clarity? Worse, what is left when your dreams and fantasies merge with your neighbors' to create a new reality insubstantial and invisible even to those who love you the most? Does it make your life any less real? Does it erase your fear to know that it should be impossible to hear the screams of the dead?

River squeezed her eyes shut tight to keep in the tears. Simon was tired from burying all the dead breadcrumbs. They weren't in the gingerbread house, the witch was in the oven, and he was beside her where he belonged. Holding onto him gave her the clarity of love. Maybe if she could make it a reality she would stop being afraid.


End file.
